Last Song (Heinlein's Finches Book 3)

by Robin Banks

“Say please and thank you. Yes, I get it. It’s just that she was talking about running chemical tests like they’re something everyone knows about. All we could do was nod and pretend that we understood her.”

  “Raj can follow her at least half the time, but she’s kind of a genius.”

  “And you work for her?”

  “With her. Kinda. You’ve seen what I do. I don’t have to know shit to do that. My brain is just wired weird, is all.”

  “Sure.” She sighs and seems to sag.

  “Go to sleep. No point in you getting tired now.”

  “Bit late for that. Are you sure you’re ok with me staying here?”

  “I think my reputation will survive it.” The bed starts shaking, and I realize she’s shivering. “Are you cold?”

  “Of course I am. It’s freezing in here, even with the door open.”

  “Turn the bloody heating up, then. It’s not complicated.”

  “Yet you can’t manage it for yourself.”

  I sit up and lean over to adjust the dials. My abs feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of horses.

  “I like it cold.”

  “You’re a fucking weirdo. Thank you. Luke?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t do anything like that again. Please.”

  I turn around to look at her, and her eyes are enormous.

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “Actually, you could.” Her voice keeps getting smaller and she’s still shivering.

  “If I promise you that, then I might have to do stuff that could compromise the mission, or put myself in worse danger.”

  “Snitches get stitches. I get it. How about staying out of trouble?”

  “The mission…”

  “Yeah. I get that, too. You could have just said yes, you know.”

  “No. I couldn’t. That would have been a lie.”

  “And you never lie, obviously, even though this entire debacle took place because you infiltrated a drug ring under false pretenses.”

  “That was different. I can’t lie to you.”

  She turns around and her eyes are so big I could fall right into them.

  “Why?”

  “Because…” I can’t think of any reason that sounds like it makes sense, so I go with the truth. “Because you’re you. Go to sleep. Please. I’m tired.”

  Her eyes get wider, but shallower. I manage to pull myself out of them.

  “Ok. Sorry.”

  She sighs and turns her head to stare at the ceiling. She closes her eyes and does that thing with her breathing that makes it regular and slow without seeming forced. It’s relaxing just listening to it. After a few minutes something changes in it, and I realize she’s gone to sleep.

  I turn around to look at her. I probably shouldn’t, but I do. She looks tired, even in her sleep, and there’s a small crease in her forehead, right between her eyebrows. I wish I could stroke it away, but that’d probably wake her up and getting caught doing that would be next-level weird. I try to think at her that I’m alright, she’s alright, everything and everyone is alright, that she can let go of that tension. After a few moments she takes a deep breath and sinks deeper into the bed, and the crease disappears. It spooks me before I realize it’s just a coincidence. I’m spending too much time listening to bullshit about psi-bilities. It’s starting to get to me.

  I close my eyes and let myself fall into her breath. It’s so smooth and so comfortable. I try to match it, try to lean right into it. For a second I feel like I’ve managed, like our skins are blending even though we’re not even touching, then Quinn lets off a moan and I pull back. She whimpers softly, then goes back to her normal sleep.

  I try to find a rhythm of my own for my breath to follow, but I can’t. I fall in and out of hers instead, until I just fall asleep.

  I wake up feeling Alya’s eyes on me. She’s been crying. That jolts me right awake, but when I open my eyes and see her standing in my doorway, her face is dry. She looks awful, though: the circles around her eyes are nearly as dark as the eyes themselves.

  Quinn is still fast asleep. I have no idea what time it is, but I put a finger on my lips to tell Alya to be quiet and I get up as slowly as I can. That hurts – I feel as if I’m recovering from a whole-body cramp – but I can do it alright. I try to lead Alya out of the room, but she clamps around my middle hard enough to crack something, so I wrap my arms around her shoulders and squeeze her back. Gods, this feels good. Her shoulders heave for a bit, so I don’t let go.

  When she pushes me off her and looks up, her eyes are dry and hard again. I drag her outside, but not far from my door. That way she can’t yell at me without waking Quinn up, which she won’t do.

  “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “You best go clean that up, then.”

  “Very funny. If you ever do anything like this again, I’ll kill you myself. You get it?”

  “I get it. I’m sorry.”

  “Not sorry enough. How are you?”

  “Sore. Hungry. Need a piss.”

  “Thank you for sharing. Can I trust you to do that unsupervised without half-killing yourself, or do I have to hold it for you?”

  “I think I’ll manage. I could do with a coffee.”

  “No.” Her voice gets hard. “You’re not going near anything that could affect your heart rate. Not until you’ve had an ECG, anyway.”

  “Alya…”

  “No.” She clenches her fists, arms tight against her body. “I thought I was going to lose you, you asshole. Now we play by my rules. Ok?”

  “Alright. No coffee.”

  “No coffee, no booze, no drugs. I’ll run a few tests on you after you’ve eaten. Then I’ll run them again, and again, and probably again. Then we’ll see.”

  “If I don’t have coffee every four hours or so I get the mother and father of all headaches.”

  Her eyes narrow. “And this has been going on for how long?”

  “What year are we in?”

  “You’re an asshole. Go piss. I’ll see you in the kitchen in ten. If you don’t come, I’ll come and get you, ready or not.” She turns around and stomps off. I watch her go, because I can. Last night I didn’t think I’d ever see her again. I wish she’d given me another hug. I’ll have to see about conning her into that. I sure as hell can’t ask for one: she’d think I’ve lost it completely and ship me off to a med bay for sure.

  I tiptoe back into my room and into my ‘fresher. Quinn is still asleep. Her hair has gotten loose in the night and is covering her shoulders in ripples. I liked it better when it was black, but this is good, too. She needs to shave. There’s a faint trace of dark stubble on her jaw that makes it look harder and softer at the same time. I’m sure it would feel scratchy as fuck, because stubble is stubble, but I keep thinking that hers would be velvety and I want to touch it. If I needed any extra proof that I really need some coffee, this would do it. Damn Alya and her obsession with my survival.

  She’s serious about the ban, too. When I get into the kitchen, just looking at the coffee machine earns me a scowl. She puts a steaming cup in front of me. From the smell I can’t tell what it is, but I can tell I don’t want it.

  “Alya? Could I have a drink someone hasn’t already drunk?”

  “Herbal tea. It’s cleansing.”

  “Because it’s gonna make me vomit?”

  “Very funny. Drink it up.”

  She sits across from me with a drink of her own. She doesn’t seem any keener than me to drink it. I’m trying not to eyeball her too hard, ‘cause that’d be weird, but I could look at her forever. We take turns sneaking looks at each other. Maybe Quinn is right about us both being fools.

  It doesn’t take long for Raj to join us. When he sees me, some of the tension leaves his face. He doesn’t make a fuss: he just squeezes my shoulder on his way over to Alya and leaves it at that. He gives her a good all-over squeeze, though, before taking over the cooking. When the smell of breakfast comes up, my gut gu
rgles so loudly they both stare at me. When Alya starts giggling, we all crack up. We don’t stop for a while, and when we do they both look a bit less worn out.

  Asher turns up when we’ve just started eating. Alya gives him a bit of a look but still gets up to serve him up some food, so I think they’ll get over whatever it was that went down between them. The conversation isn’t brilliant, but that could be just because we’ve all had a rough night.

  Quinn doesn’t roll in until we’ve all finished eating. She stumbles into the kitchen, eyes wide and deep, hair still loose down her back, looking like that princess in the story who slept for a hundred years. When she sees me she smiles, but she doesn’t look any less dazed. We stay in the kitchen until she’s had her breakfast, then Alya drags me off to her office.

  After she’s poked and prodded at me long enough to prove to herself that I’m alive she seems to relax some. The day continues muted, though. We all hang around the cargo bay, doing nothing much. The guys do a bit of training, but they don’t seem to be into it.

  I can’t do a damn thing, because Alya is watching me like a hawk. Every time I try to move, she gets up and does whatever it is for me. I can’t sneeze without her rushing off to get me a tissue. She’d take my ‘fresher breaks if she could. I wish she calmed the fuck down, but running around after me seems to make her happy, somehow. I don’t get it. Maybe I don’t want to get it. I hate it, because I’m being a drain, but it makes me happy, too. It feels nice.

  It doesn’t seem to be helping, though. The more I rest, the more tired I feel. After lunch I’m only half awake. Somehow sitting and eating has taken it out of me. I don’t feel like going to my cabin, though. I’m really enjoying half-listening to the guys talk about nothing much. It’s comforting. I just make myself comfortable in a corner of the lounge and keep drifting in and out while they do their shit.

  I’m barely conscious when Alya rests the back of her fingers on my forehead for a few moments, then strokes it. For a split second I think she’s going to kiss it and close my eyes so I can really feel it. When I realize what I just did, it jolts me awake. I have no idea why I would think that. Alya has never, ever kissed me. I’ve never kissed her. We don’t do that kind of shit. Then I remember.

  I was little, maybe three or four, and I had caught one of those bugs you get as a kid that can really fuck you up. My dad was working and my mom was still leaving the house back then, so I got left on my own. I guess I was hallucinating because I could see a screen showing a threedee in the ceiling above the sofa that was my bed. I was having a great time, even though I couldn’t follow the story. Then my nan came in. She was nice, my nan was, though she wasn’t really my nan at all, just a neighbor who used to mind me when nobody else could or would. When she realized I wasn’t well, she put her fingers on my forehead and stroked it just like Alya did, then she kissed it. It felt really nice, cool and warm at the same time. She sat next to me and stayed there while I told her about the pictures on the ceiling, or tried to, until my dad got home. He got angry when he saw us, but I’m not sure if it was at her being there, my mom being away, me being ill, or what. Maybe it was just his normal baseline anger and I noticed it more because of the contrast.

  That was a million years ago. I have no fucking idea what made me remember that now. All I know is that my eyes are itchy as fuck but I can’t stop looking at Alya. She doesn’t seem to be able to stop looking at me, either. I’m starting to think we’re gonna be stuck like this forever when my side spasms and I flinch.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah. Just a cramp.”

  “Electrolytes. I’ll get you a drink.” And she charges off towards the kitchen.

  Raj comes over to sit next to me. “Thank you for letting her do that.”

  “You what?”

  “For letting her mother you. I know you hate it, but it makes her feel better.”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m getting to kinda like it. It beats her sticking needles in me, anyway. And shouldn’t I be thanking you, or saying sorry for taking up your wife’s time?”

  He chuckles. “Right. Because her time belongs to me.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know. And no. You were her best friend before I was her husband and she’s been dying to mother you for months.”

  “What? Why?”

  He looks at me like I’m weird. “Because you were hurting and she couldn’t fix it.”

  “I thought she was pissed off.”

  “She was. She was furious, but not at you. At what happened, at the fact she couldn’t stop it or undo it, at life, yes. Not at you.” He sighs. “You know, sometimes I wish the two of you would sort things out between yourselves so you wouldn’t need a translator. But then I’d be out of a job.” He slaps my shoulder and gets up. “Let me know when she’s cleared you for coffee. I’ll break out the hard stuff.”

  “Couldn’t you do it now?”

  He snorts. “You’re one of my favorite people, but I don’t like you enough to risk that.”

  I feel better by mid-afternoon, almost normal. My blood tests come up good, too, though Alya keeps checking and rechecking my heart and frowning.

  “How long have you been getting chest pains?”

  “Dunno. Four, five months? It’s been ok the last couple of weeks.”

  It’s only after I see her reaction that I realize that I’m still half asleep and totally distracted, and that what I gave her wasn’t the right answer.

  “Kid, for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry. You can’t fix my head.”

  Her eyes are rock-hard but her bottom lip is trembling.

  “This isn’t your head, asshole. You have a distended ventricle.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know. I didn’t know I had ventricles. Is it bad?”

  “It’s not good.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry? Sorry. Like you gave yourself a heart condition on purpose.”

  “There’s a lot I’ve not done on purpose I’m sorry for.”

  She closes her eyes and her bottom lip stills.

  “I know. Well. We could have done with dealing with this as soon as it started, but we can do something about it now. What I ought to do is park you in a med bay somewhere until you’re better. You need professional care and rest, and g-force changes…”

  “Don’t do that. I’ll take meds or whatever and lay off the coffee, but don’t leave me behind. Please.”

  She tenses up, then she nods. I thought she would. We don’t use ‘pleases’ lightly.

  “Ok. I have to read up on this. I don’t know enough about it. I’m not a cardiologist. I’m barely a veterinarian.”

  “It doesn’t feel that bad.”

  “It’s not that bad. Don’t worry about it. We’ll fix you up.”

  “What is it called?”

  “Oh, you’ll love this. It’s hilarious. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, also known as stress cardiomyopathy.”

  “I don’t get the joke.”

  She looks straight at me and her eyes are burning with fury. “The lay term is ‘broken heart syndrome.’”

  “Well, shit.” I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I don’t do either.

  I don’t really wake up all day, not fully. It’s nice. My brain feels fuzzy but I feel good. Maybe I feel good because my brain is fuzzy. I don’t know and I don’t care.

  We’re just finishing dinner when an almighty racket seems to shake the ship and jolts me. It seems to jolt everybody, in fairness.

  Alya’s eyes widen. “What the fuck was that?”

  Raj stands up. “That’d be our doorbell.”

  “Are we expecting anyone?”

  Asher stands up too. “Luke is.”

  Alya blinks at me. “Is he saying what I think he’s saying?”

  “Yup. Could be, anyway.”

  I try to stand up but I don’t get very far with it. Asher and Raj loom over me, looking pretty
fucking ominous, and I sit my ass right back down.

  “I think we’ll take this one,” says Raj. He’s showing a lot of teeth for someone who’s definitely not smiling.

  “But I…”

  “I think you’ve done quite enough,” says Asher. He’s not smiling either.

  They look at each other, nod, and march off towards the door in unison.

  “Alya, if I…”

  “Oh no, you don’t.” She shakes her head. “You let the guys deal with it.”

  “I don’t want them to do anything drastic.”

  “That’s between them and their gods.”

  “What?”

  “Luke, I want you to think about anything but, ok? You need to rest and recuperate, not to fret about the fate of drug-peddling guttersnipes.”

  “That’s unfair. That could have been me. If you hadn’t picked me up, back then. It’s not like I had prospects.”

  She flinches for a second, then gets a full scowl on. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t care. You get that right out of your head, ok? And you forget about this. I never, ever want you to mention any part of this again. This is over and done with for you, you hear me?”

  I try to think of something I could tell her to make her change her mind, but I know I’m kidding myself. She’s set hard on this.

  “Alright.”

  Agreeing with her doesn’t stop me wondering what the fuck the guys are doing. Whatever it is, it doesn’t take long. I try to listen out but Alya and Quinn keep talking at me. I get that they’re trying to distract me, but it’s not really working. A couple of times I think I hear Raj growling like he does when he’s really pissed off, but I’m probably imagining it. I’m imagining all sorts, that’s a fact, and none of that is pleasant.

  When the guys come back they look oddly at peace, like something was out of kilter and they put it right. They smooch their respective partners and sit down. We talk about anything but. After a little while we turn in.

  I hope I didn’t drop that kid Devin into too much shit. I hope there was a point to this whole thing, too. I don’t know if I want to know.

  I lie on my bed sideways for a while. That stops me thinking about Devin so much but it gets me thinking about Quinn. The dent she made on my bed is still there. That shouldn’t be a big deal – it shouldn’t be a deal at all – but it is. I make myself turn around and lie down properly just to make the damn thing disappear, but that doesn’t stop me thinking about it. Quinn was in my bed, a few feet away from me, totally out of reach. That’s how it’s got to be. It was too close, if anything. I feel like my brain is getting tugged in too many directions. It doesn’t stop me falling asleep, though, or at least passing out.