by Robin Banks
“You’re not sleeping?”
“I’m sleeping ok.” When I do, which is at most two or three hours a night, but never mind. “I just had a bad dream and it woke me up.”
“You’re having nightmares?”
“Nah. Just a really vivid dream, is all.” The dream comes back to me as I mention it. “I dreamt about your friend Dee.”
“You what?” She says that as if it was a big deal. I don’t get that, but it suits me fine. Maybe it will distract her from everything else.
“I dreamt about Dee. She was trying to talk to you, you wouldn’t talk to her, and she was getting kinda worked up. Then I woke up. Barely a bad dream, really. It wasn’t scary or anything.”
She shakes her head and gets up. “That wasn’t a dream at all. That was a summoning. You better pack your bags, kid. We’re going on a trip. I want us in orbit before lunch.”
“Where the hell are we going?”
“To pick up my mail.”
She gives me the low-down as we charge towards our quarters, breakfast forgotten. I’d be relieved about that, if I wasn’t struggling to keep up with her. My chest is still hurting and walking this quickly is making me dizzy. I can’t ask her to slow down, though. She seems really wound up.
“Dee and I were in school together, kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“She was at the Academy with me, though she never joined the Patrol. Before that, we were at a Fed Youth Sorting Centre for a while.”
“Alya, that’s not a school: that’s a floating kiddy prison. Why didn’t you ever say anything about it?”
“Because it’s such a fun period of my life that I like to keep it all to myself. I’m selfish like that.”
“You do remember I was in juvie for the best part of four years, right?”
“Vividly. And I’m sure it would be ever so pleasant for us to sit around and exchange our fond memories of those joyful periods, but every time I get drunk enough I find myself too busy spewing, and now’s not the time. Anyway, Dee and I go back a long way. Back then, her psi-gifts were pretty damn handy for the both of us. She’s never had any training, though, so we worked out what she could do by trial and error.”
“How the hell did she end up without training? I thought the Fed were all over psi-gifted kids.”
“They are. That’s rather the problem. Dee didn’t fancy being the subject of a Fed experiment. She passed her year eleven psi-test so she could leave home, then cheated on her entrance assessment so they rejected her for the psi program. It was pretty easy, thanks to one of her gifts.”
“What is it?”
“Precognition. It not precise, it doesn’t kick in very often, and it hardly ever works on demand, but sometimes she can get snippets of the future.”
“Hang on a moment. Seeing the future can’t be any help at all. If she can see the future then she can’t change it, right?”
“Yes and no. We have no idea. We think that she can see one of multiple possible futures, perhaps the most likely, and the steps that lead to it. That could be wishful thinking on our parts, though. Neither of us is terribly fond of predeterminism. It doesn’t really matter, because most of the times what she sees is so godsdamned vague that it’s no help at all. Maybe she could have learnt to use her gift more effectively if she’d had any help with it, but she never wanted to. She’s scared of knowing the future. I can’t blame her. Anyway, she flunked her tests, her gifts were never studied, and we just muddled along. One of the things we discovered is that her telepathy is not limited in range.”
“She’s telepathic too?”
“Yup. Kinda. There’s a bit of empathy in the mix so we could never be sure of what was what. We found some things out, though. For instance, her projection is not space-limited. As far as we know, she can project to wherever she wants, regardless of distance, and the message arrives instantly. However, my reception is space-limited. I can only read her loud and clear when she’s close up. The further she goes, the less I can read her. That limitation seems to apply only to me; other people can’t read her at all and some people can read her regardless. It helps if they are in a meditative state, or asleep. I don’t know whether busy people can’t read her or just end up ignoring her, but it amounts to the same. Oh, and she can only project to people she knows. She has to be able to think of the person she’s projecting to with a level of detail.”
“What the hell does this have to do with anything?”
“It could be that you’ve just had an odd dream about Dee wanting to talk to me, but I’m willing to bet that you haven’t. She’s using you as a receiver to tell me to get in touch, because she knows I won’t get her message myself. And if that’s the case, something’s really out of kilter. Otherwise she’d just get me over the com.”
“So what the hell are we doing now?”
“I told you. We’re picking up my mail. I’ve got relays set up to a free com band. It’s traceable, but it’s unlikely to get traced. There are simply too many of them around for the Fed to be able to check them all. Even if they get into it, it’s encrypted, and even if that fails, at the very least it won’t drag Raj and his lot into whatever this is. If we get there and there are no messages, then we’ll have to either find Dee, or at least get to free com range with her.”
“I never could understand any of that.”
“If the signal goes through a Fed relay, they can read it. They also charge you for it, but that’s not a problem for us.”
“Because Raj is loaded?”
“Yup. And the Anteians have their own relays, which helps a bunch. But that’s not an option now. If Dee could just send us a com, she wouldn’t have relied on you remembering to tell me about your dream. Oh!” She slows down a bit to look at me. “Was it the first time you dreamed about her?”
“I think so. I’m not sure. I don’t always remember my dreams.” The ones I do remember, the ones that wake me up at night and make me never want to go back to sleep, aren’t about Dee.
“Alright. Well, until we know otherwise, I’m going to assume that this is serious and urgent. How quickly can you get packed?”
“What am I packing for? Why am I even coming?”
“Dee may want to get in touch again and you’re our best receiver. She doesn’t know anyone else here. We could be gone for a couple of days or a couple of weeks. I have no idea where she is at the moment.”
“Alya, I can’t just drop everything and go. I’ve got work to do.”
“I’ll clear it with Lara.”
“I don’t want you to do that. If anyone’s got to clear it with Lara, it should be me, and I don’t want to. I want to stay and do my work.”
“Luke…” she trails off with an expression on her face I know all too well. She’s terrible at giving bad news, even though she’s had plenty of practice.
“Out with it. Please.”
“Lara wants you to take some time off. That’s why she wanted to talk to me. She wants you to take a break.”
I stop dead. I have to: I don’t think I have the energy to carry on walking, and I don’t want to fall over.
“Have I lost my job?”
“What? No. She just wants you to have a rest. Until you get better.”
“And if I don’t get better, what then?”
“You will. Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get this done, ok? It’s a twofer, really. We can go off, find out what this is all about, have a break, see the sights, and then come back and start afresh.”
“Yeah. Nothing like a trip to a mailbox to turn your life around.”
I wish I’d kept my trap shut. Now she looks distraught and it’s my fault.
“Come on, kid. Let’s give it a try, ok? It can’t hurt.”
She pushes me gently and I set off walking again. I know it will hurt. Hours on end with Alya, having to pretend that I’m ok. Hours with nothing to fill them, nothing to distract me. Hours to myself. Just thinking about that scares the shit out of me. The only reason
I’ve been keeping it together, relatively speaking, is that I’ve been keeping too busy to think.
I know I’ve not being doing great at work. I’ve done my best, but my best hasn’t been very good. I didn’t realize I was doing that badly, though. I know I wouldn't have my job if it weren’t for Alya and Raj. Now I have to wonder whether I would have kept it this long. Maybe Lara is only putting up with me because of them. It wouldn’t surprise me.
It does surprise me, though, somehow. It must, because it hurts. Everything I managed to eat congeals in my stomach, my eyes are getting itchy, and my chest feels like it’s caving in. The only way I can keep on going is to turn all my dials down, to push everything down so deep that I can’t feel it anymore. I just feel empty instead.
“What about Raj?”
She nearly smiles. “I’ll ask him. We should have a third on board, and he’ll want to come if he can. I don’t think he’s too busy at the moment. It would be a nice family trip, wouldn’t it?”
Yeah. Stuck on a ship with nothing to do but watch two of the people I love the most worry about me. The two people to whom I owe everything, the two people I’ve let down the most… Nah, that’s not right. That’s not even close to being right. I fucking wish that was the case.
“Yeah, Alya. It’ll be a nice break.”
“There you go. You get your stuff packed, ok? I’ll sort the rest.”
“Sure.”
When we get to my room, I smile for her. I do my best, anyway. Maybe it’s not good enough, because she frowns at me.
“Are you alright packing?”
“I’ll manage.”
“I’ll come for you as soon as our ship is ready. It’ll probably be an hour or so. I don’t want to kick the techs out of bed on a whim.”
“Sure. I’ll be ready.”
I walk inside and jam a bunch of clothes into my bag. It doesn’t take me long and there’s nothing else I need. That gives me the time to go to the ‘fresher and throw up my breakfast. I thought I might feel better without that weight inside me, but I don’t. Instead, I feel empty and hurting. How can emptiness hurt?
I lie down on my bed. The pain in my chest is so bad that I’m struggling to breathe, but I know it will get better. It always does. If I push down on it too long so I can get on with stuff, I have to pay for it afterwards, is all. I just have to let it out for a bit. I curl around it and let it run through me until there’s a knock at my door. Then I push it back down, turn all my dials down as far as they will go, pick up my bag, and get out.
When I open the door to see that Raj is there with Alya and that he’s got his bags, I don’t know whether to feel relief or worry. I can’t feel a damn thing anyway, but it seems I should know how I would feel. On the one hand, having Raj along will make my life easier, because he’ll keep Alya occupied. On the other, I’ll have two sets of eyes looking at me, two lots of disappointment to deal with.
I’m getting an early start at disappointing people, apparently. Alya gives my bag a dismayed look. “Is that all you’ve got?”
“Yeah.”
She keeps staring at me, so I carry on.
“If it’s just the three of us, I won’t need formal clothes. I’m good.”
“What about Jay?”
“What about him?”
“Aren’t you taking him?”
“Wasn’t going to.”
“Any reason why?”
“I’ve not been playing much lately, is all.”
Raj is staring at the floor and I feel like a heel. Jay is my second guitar. I bought him after I’d been working and saving up a few months. He’s gorgeous and plays like a dream. Raj gave me my first one. I think for a while he thought I was going to get somewhere with it, that I could get good. I didn’t.
Alya takes a deep breath. “Luke, I’d really appreciate it if you would take him along. Just in case.”
“He’s back at the annex.”
“You never brought him over?”
“Nah.”
Her jaw clenches. Whatever’s coming next is not going to be good. Thankfully, Raj cuts in.
“I can go get him. If you don’t mind.”
“Sure. Thank you.” Anything to get Alya off my back, and anything to stop me having to go there. Which is why he volunteered, of course.
I like Raj a lot. I’m not close to him like I am to Alya, but it’s not a reflection on the guy. Alya and I have gone through a lot together, is all. She’s the closest thing I’m ever going to have to a sister. I couldn’t have picked a better guy for her, though. Raj is solid. We’ve got pretty much nothing in common apart from music because our lives have been very different, but he gets things. That’s the problem: it’s hard to keep my shit from hitting him. It’s not that he’s not strong, or can’t deal. It’s just that he actually gives a damn, and he’s got a weird belief or hope that the world should be better than it is. Sometimes I think that’s fucked up, because the dude is old enough to know better. Sometimes I think that’s great, and I would hate to be the one who fucks it all up for him. Sometimes I think I already did.
He goes off to get my guitar while Alya and I get settled on ship. I know she’s deeply unhappy about all of this, but I can’t think of a single good thing to say that will ease her tension. It doesn’t take Raj long to get back, thankfully.
“Luke, I’m sorry. I couldn’t find a ship case for him. I got you your old one instead.”
“Nah, this is better. This one has travelled a ton. I know she’ll be safe.”
“What do you call her, anyway?”
“I don’t. I’ve never had to call her anything. There’s only one of her.”
That makes him smile. That’s good. Maybe I can manage this. All I have to do is act normal for them, and my normal isn’t that stellar anyway.
“Alya? How far is it to your mailbox?”
“Four days.”
Eight days there and back, minimum.
I’ve got fuck-all chance of pulling this off.
Raj’s ship is top of the range. Hell, everything Raj has is top of the range. That’s what you get for being an Anteian princeling, though you have to pay for it in a ton of ways. I’m sure there are things his family can’t afford, but I can’t think of any. It makes sense for them to get the best stuff, really. They can afford it, so they may as well enjoy it, and it saves credit in the long run: instead of buying some cheap piece of shit that’ll need replacing every five minutes, they get the best there is and keep it in top shape. I’ve saved a ton since I’ve started buying clothes where Raj goes. That stuff never falls apart.
The ship is a few years old now, but it could have come out the yard yesterday. You’d struggle to find a comfier way to get slingshot into space, even when Alya’s piloting. It’s not that she’s a bad pilot. It’s not even that she can’t fly sensibly. It’s just that she chooses not to, most of the time. I think maybe it’s some kind of release valve for her. Ever since she got with Raj her life has been safe and her behavior has been unfailingly appropriate. Before then, things had been a lot more lively. Not in a good way, to be honest, but it definitely wasn’t boring. Maybe this is how she gets her adrenaline fix. Maybe she just likes to push ships as far as they can go. Either way, I’m damn glad that Raj’s gear is good: if she ever pushed our old ship like she’s pushing this one, we’d have disintegrated before leaving atmo.
As soon as we’re out of the gravity well and our course stabilizes, I make my excuses and go to my cabin. Alya doesn’t look terribly happy about it, but Raj whispers something and she lets me go without making a fuss.
One of the good things about this ship is that, aside from the g-force, the life support parameters can be independently set. The communal areas seem to have been set to Anteian spring. It’s warm but not too hot, and the light is bright and mellow at the same time. They’ve even got some kind of flower smell coming through the air vents. All it needs is the tweeting of birds and I could close my eyes and believe that I’m sitting in the garde
ns outside my annex. It’s objectively lovely. It’s nobody’s fault but mine that it makes me want to carve out a vein.
The setting in my cabin is different. I bet Alya had something to do with this. The light and temperature remind me of early mornings in Thalia, and Alya is the only one who was there with me. We had a good time there. An interesting time, anyway. It was sweet of her to do this for me.
I record the settings as a program, so I can bring it back up at short notice in case Alya or Raj wanna come in. Then I set it to how I like it, with the lights down and the temperature just cold enough to bite a little. I lie on my bed and calculate how long I can stay here without worrying the guys. Maybe it’s good I’ve brought my guitar. They’ll think I’m busy playing and leave me alone. I think about putting some music on to fob them off in case they check, but I don’t have any recordings that sound as shit as I do, so I don’t bother.
Four days to Alya’s ‘mailbox’, which turns out to be a trading post on an ex-Fed tube. Four days spent trying not to implode or explode. I spend enough time with the guys to stop them worrying about me, every moment of that concentrating on not slipping up, on behaving like I’m ok. I spend way too much time with myself, with nothing to do but trying not to think. Being alone scares me now, in a distant, vague way. It’s weird, because I’ve always been a loner. I don’t trust myself now, I guess. When I’m with people, I don’t trust myself not to hurt them. When I’m on my own it’s only myself I can hurt, but there’s nobody to stop me.
Four days in a fucking tin can, feeling like whatever the fuck this is isn’t a part of me anymore: it’s an organism feeding on me, getting stronger as I get weaker. Four fucking days of this, and when we finally get there and bribe our way through this shithole of a place, the ‘mailbox’ is empty.
