by Robin Banks
“I’m obliged to remind you that your emancipation can be revoked until you reach your majority in the event of you failing to support yourselves or committing a crime," she drones at us as she returns our papers.
I look at our IDs. Right over our parents' names is stamped in red ‘Emancipated’, and today’s date. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. I find it hard not to snatch everything out of her hands and set off running. We manage to make it out of the building before we start jumping and whooping.
“Tom, we pulled this off. Can you believe this?”
“Nearly. I’ll believe it when we get off world.”
“I never want to see this godsdamn town again.”
“Too right.”
By the time we get back to the bubble gate, we’re fighting a sea of people heading in the opposite direction. It takes us an age and a lot of elbow work to get through. The place is in chaos. Workers are swarming all over it, dismantling and carting away structures as quickly as people are leaving them, literally rolling up the footways behind them. The main structure has already lost all its sense of grandeur, of solidity. Without partitions, with the lights off, it looks like a giant spider web threatening to collapse and engulf the minuscule people swarming all over it.
We don’t know what to do or where to go, so we go back to the one place we know. We manage to locate the ATR with the lady who gave us our contracts, but she’s not there. We can’t ask for her, because everyone is busy working and anyway we still don’t know who she is or what she’s called. It takes us a while to find her.
“Finally. You got your papers? Actually, fuck it. You get to work now. I’ll check them before we set off. If they’re not in order, we’ll just leave you behind. That’ll teach you.” She turns around and bellows. “Kolya!”
Another burly man bellows back in the distance. “What?”
“Got your workers!”
The man drops what he’s doing and trundles over to us. “Nicky, these are Tom and Luke. Tom, Luke, this is Nicky, your boss.” He stares at us, arms akimbo, blinking, then turns to the lady.
“This is joke, right?” He speaks broken English, with a thick accent I don’t recognize.
She sighs. “No joke, Kolya.”
“But these are children!”
“Look, if they don’t work, we’ll leave them behind. Nothing lost.”
“I don’t even start loading yet! Everything lost!”
“You say this every time.”
“Every time is right! Always shit workers.”
“Two men doing the work of four, and you know it. Come on, we need to get going.” He stares at her without moving. “Kolya, there is nobody else. And they need a lift,” she adds more gently.
He shakes his arms in the air. “More gypsies! One day this will kill you.”
“Maybe. Hopefully not today. Come on, we’ve got no time for this.”
He turns away, still muttering. She shrugs and follows him. “You can put your bags under there,” she points at a small ATR. “You’ve got work clothes?”
We look at her blankly.
She sighs. “Oh, for the love of… Kolya! Got overalls?”
He stops, turns around, throws his arms in the air again, and goes off into some kind of container. When he comes back out, he tosses two bundles of clothes at us. “Come on. No time.”
The lady walks us into some kind of mobile habitat. It’s definitely air-tight, but it doesn’t look like it’d take much pressure. That concerns me briefly, but I don’t have a chance to worry about it for very long because I’m distracted by what’s inside. Two rows of pens on either side, containing animals. All kinds of animals. Both Tom and I stop dead when we see them. The lady turns around and rolls her eyes at us. “Well, come on. It’s not as hard as it looks.”
We follow her down the passageway.
“Do not touch any animal unless you know what you’re doing. Which you don’t. So keep your hands well away. Do not touch any cage until the animals are sedated, unless we tell you otherwise. Basically just don’t touch anything without our say-so. Unless you’re happy losing a hand.”
She leads us out of the back of the habitat, where a bunch of wheeled crates of different sizes are stored. “It’s simple, really. Get the animals in a crate. Harness them up and sedate them if they need it. Pull the crate on board. Secure the crates inside the ship. Easy.” She flicks a smile at us.
I gotta say something. “Miss, we don’t actually have any experience of working with animals.”
“As if anyone did, these days. And that’s why you’re perfect. We don’t have to knock bad habits out of you. I don’t want you to be comfortable. I want you to be scared. Half of this is easy and half of this can kill you. I don’t want you to ever forget that."
Nicky pokes his head through the habitat flap and grins. “Little gopnik kid call you ‘Miss’.”
“About time I get some respect around here.”
“Maybe I call you that, too.”
“Be the last thing you do.” His grin gets even bigger. “Kolya, stop fucking around.” He laughs and disappears through the flap again.
I’m confused. “Sorry. Is his name Nicky or Kolya?”
“Nicky to you, Kolya to me.” I keep looking at her. “What?”
“I didn’t catch your name.”
“Alya. My name is Alya. To you, anyway. You may continue to call me Miss. I could not care less, provided you move.” She stomps off towards the back of the habitat. As we race to catch up with her, she turns and smiles at us over her shoulder.
“Welcome to the circus, kids.”
2.
The next six hours are hell. I’ve done physical work – we both have, we had to – but I’ve never done any work where you just had to go on, without breaks, food, or the chance to stop and get your breath back or shake off an injury until everything is done. I work to exhaustion and past it so many times I lose count. By the end, all I can do is ignore my body, ignore myself, and carry on mindlessly pushing and pulling and lifting and carrying until everything and everyone is safely stored away in what has to be the crappiest-looking spaceship I’ve ever seen.
Then, just when I think we’re finally done and I will be able to collapse in a heap and die, Nicky bellows at me from outside the habitat. Turns out we have to dismantle and pack that up, too. I honestly don’t think I can do it, I don’t think I have it in me, but I have no real choice so I just get on with it. When everything is finally stowed away, Tom and I are left standing in the empty space we’ve created, staring at each other. He looks as dead as I feel. He must be exhausted, because he doesn’t take the opportunity to tell me what he thinks about me dragging him into this.
Alya rushes by. She’s been helping us all the way through, sedating the animals and strapping them up in their crates, then securing the crates in the ship. She’s done her share of humping crap around, too. I didn’t expect that. Never had a boss who pulled their weight. She doesn’t look half as tired as us, either.
“Kids, you’re done. For now, anyway. You’re such lucky bastards that you get to skive off.”
“You’re joking, right?” wheezes Tom.
“Look around you. We’re done here. We’re off.”
Tom shakes his head and follows Nicky into the ship. I take the time to look around and she’s right: everyone else is still at it. Everything has been taken apart and packed up, apart from some piles of stuff dotted around. The workers who’re not busy moving those are suiting up.
“Miss? What happens now?”
“They have to take the portabubble down and load it up, then they’ll start leaving. But we’re off now. Hurry on up.”
As I follow the guys towards the ship, Alya drives a small ATR past me and right into the cargo hold. She gets out and waits for us at the top of the ramp.
“Alright, kids. This is your final chance. Once we’re off, we’re off. You’d have to get back under your own steam. And you haven’t even asked where
we’re going.”
I’m too exhausted to deal with this. “Miss, we want to come. If you don’t want us, making us work first and then telling us was kind of shitty.”
She frowns. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m telling it like it is. If you change your mind once we’ve set off, I can’t fetch you back.”
“Good. We’re ready when you are.”
Tom nods, though it could be just that he’s ready to fall over.
As we make our way towards the bridge, Alya seals the doors behind us. That sound is another ending. Two in a day seems a bit much, but I’m too spent to think about it right now.
When we get to the bridge, Alya plops herself into the pilot’s seat.
“You’re flying this thing?” Sometimes Tom doesn’t think before talking. This was one of those times.
“I’m the pilot, yes. I’m also the tech, the veterinarian, and the medic. You got a problem with this, you can walk right on out.”
Nicky picks that moment to wander in. “Why you bite the kid’s head? Maybe not so many girls fly ships here. He don’t go anywhere. He don’t know you. And ships are scary.”
Alya sighs. “You’re right. Sorry. Knee-jerk reaction. Yes, I fly this ship. I’m trained to. Anything else I do, I make up as I’m going along. That should probably concern you.” She turns to Nick. “Everything ok back there?”
“Yes. All good. Ready.” And he disappears back into the cargo bay.
“Ok. If you can sleep through this, you probably should. We’ve got about two hours to rest and then we’ll be back on. The sedation is timed to wear off once our course is stable. We’ll be busy as hell.”
“How can we sleep?” I ask.
“The bunks are set up for it. You can strap yourself in.”
“I don’t think I could. Even if I wanted to. I’ve never been off planet.”
Her eyes widen. “Of course. Well, pick a seat, then. Strap yourself in. I’ll check you in a moment.” She disappears into the cargo bay.
Tom elbows me hard in the ribs. “Man, why did you have to say that? Makes us sound like dirtsiders.”
“We are dirtsiders.”
“No need to tell her that.”
“She’s seen our papers.”
“No need to remind her. Just try and be cool, ok?”
I’m about to tell him how ridiculous he’s being when I’m distracted by a streak of black and white dashing across the room. A godsdamn dog got loose somehow and ran straight to the co-pilot’s seat. I’m about to unstrap myself and deal with it, though I have no idea what to do, when Alya walks in. “She’s alright. Don’t worry. That’s Laika.” She walks over and harnesses the dog into the seat. “This is where she always travels. With dog as my co-pilot, you know?”
I don’t. Neither does Tom. We give her a blank look. She sighs. “That’s it, then. Ready to go?”
I’ve spent so much time as a child imagining how it’d feel to leave the planet. It was my wildest dream and my dearest wish. What I’m feeling now doesn’t come anywhere near it. It’s anything but epic. My stomach and my heart sink, drowning in a combination of fear, physical discomfort, and the realization of how big a deal this is, of what we’ve actually done. But I’m doing it. I’m getting out of here. I got out of there. We made it.
I look at Tom and his face reflects my feelings. He doesn’t look so tough now. He looks like a kid torn between fear and awe. I know his face better than I know my own – after all, I spend a lot more time looking at it. I’ve never seen it wear that expression before, so I study it as carefully as I can, to etch it on my memory.
It doesn’t take long for us to escape the gravity well, which I’m damned glad of. My stomach isn’t too happy about the changes in g-force we’ve gone through. I’m really glad to see Alya unstrap herself and get up, because that must mean that she’s done playing yo-yo with my insides.
She unstraps Laika, stretches, then comes over to see us. The dog comes to see us too. It sticks its head over my knees. I have no idea what to do about it.
“You guys ok?”
“Yes.” “Yeah.”
“You really ought to try and get some sleep now. You can at least catch a nap. How long have you been up for, anyway?”
“What time is it?”
“1am, your time.”
I count on my fingers. “19 hours, then.”
“Not too bad, I guess. You?” She looks at Tom.
He shrugs. “Dunno. I’ve been busy the last few days.” He’s starting to look awful now, grey with exhaustion. I wonder when he last ate. I also wonder where he got all those bruises from, but if he wanted me to know he’d tell me.
Alya carries on. “Here is how it works here. You work four hours in the morning, feeding, cleaning, grooming, and exercising the animals. Then you have four hours off, if you’ve managed to do everything you needed to do, which hardly ever happens. Then you work another six hours, which on-planet is when we run shows and open the stables to the public. Then you have a couple of hours off, again. Then you have eight hours with no power, no lights.”
“No lights?”
“Nope. Unless you have your own power source. All non-essential systems get shut off for the night, including the life support for the bubble. Life support for the living quarters is the only thing we run. Lots of people find that difficult to manage, but I sleep eight hours a day anyway, if I can, so I don’t see what the issue is.”
“So we work ten hours per day?”
“Minimum. If it all goes well. Depending on how long a day is where we are. And not on move days: those are much longer. You get one day off a week, too, but never on a day when we have shows or on a move day. Which means that you hardly ever get a day off, because we’re always having shows or moving. When you do, the animals still need looking after, so one of you will have to do twice the work.”
“That’s not a problem.” I try to sound convincing.
“It will be if you don’t get the sleep you need. We’ve got dangerous animals in there. You don’t have the luxury of fucking up, so you need to rest when you can. In an hour or so, the sedation will start to wear off and we’ll be all systems go. I’m not going to send you off to bed. I’m not your mom. But I’m going to sleep while I have the chance. Oh, and we have to adapt our schedules to the planet we’re going to. Need to get the animals adjusted to the time of day on arrival. So…” she checks out a reader “We’re looking at a 26 hours day on this trip. You’re lucky. Extra two hours sleep.”
“I don’t get that.”
“We need our internal clocks to be set at the right local time when we land. Not so much for us, but for the animals. We could adjust the ship’s clock to run faster or slower, but I find that tends to make everyone moody and confused. So instead we shorten or lengthen our night-times. Most of the times, it works. We plan our routes to take it into account, if we can. Sometimes we can’t, and that sucks. Dealing with sleep-deprived animals is no fun at all, particularly if you’re sleep-deprived yourself. So you’ll need to sleep whenever you can. Seriously. This is important.”
“I get you. I think.”
“I might try getting some shut-eye,” mumbles Tom.
“Bunks are over there. Strap yourself in, just in case.”
“K.” And he stumbles off.
I’m exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep if you knocked me out, so I stay put. Not that I’m sure I could get up, because the dog is still glued to my legs. Alya sees me looking at it and chortles.
“Laika is ok. She wouldn’t hurt anyone. And she likes you. That’s rare.”
“I don’t know what it wants.”
“She wants you to like her back. And scratch behind her ears. Gently, like this.” Laika looks up at Alya and leans back until she’s resting against her legs. “She’s a goofy dog, but a reasonable judge of character. You must be better than you look.”
“Thanks? I guess.”
Alya laughs. I never expected to hear such a human sound pass her lip
s.
“It was a compliment! Sort of. Laika is one of the few people around here whose opinion I trust. You’re alright. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to see if I can get some rest before all hell breaks loose.”
“But I don’t know what to do! I’ve never even been on a ship.”
“Any strange noises or red lights, run over and get me. I’ll be awake, mostly. I just need to rest my eyes for a bit. Don’t touch anything. Other than that, there isn’t anything for anyone to do until we get there.”
She walks off towards the cargo bay, dog at her heels.
“Miss, where are you going? I thought you were going to rest.”
“I am.”
“But the bunk room…”
“Oh hell no. I’m going to sleep in my own bed, thank you very much. You’ll find me. Or Laika will find you. Catch you later.”
Nothing happens for about an hour, during which time I struggle to stay alert. I keep nodding off and shaking myself awake, until a yammering starts on the com. I have no idea what it means or what to do, so I race off to find Alya.
I can’t see her anywhere in the cargo bay, but as soon as I get to the ATR at the back Laika’s nose pops out of a gap in the door. I’m not sure whether it wants to welcome me or eat me, so I stay well out of the way.
“Alya?”
Her head emerges above Laika’s. “What?”
“Noises on the com.”
“Good, bad, indifferent?”
“No idea. Sorry.”
“Well, shit.” She yawns. “Alright then. I’ll be there in a mo.”
It doesn’t take her long to get to the bridge. She listens to the chaos of noise coming through, a jumble of muffled words and hisses and pops, then slumps in the pilot’s seat and rubs her face. “All good, kid. First ship in the convoy has set off, is all.”
“Convoy?”
“Yeah. We take the longest to get anywhere, so we start out first. We get overtaken and end up bringing up the rear, which is what we want. The rest of the ships follow each other in a convoy. That way they get to our next site in the right order and can start building up immediately. And when one of them breaks down, there’s another ship near enough to help.”
