Among The Stars (Heinlein's Finches Book 2)

by Robin Banks

  If Tom’s right, which he probably is, I am going to lose Raj and Alya soon. That doesn’t make me want to spend less time with them, though. Quite the opposite. If I never see Raj again, I want as much time with him as he’s willing to spare. I guess it doesn’t make much sense as a strategy, but it feels right.

  Realizing what moving means for us has added another layer of stress to our moving day. I’ve finally managed to ask Alya what our plans are. We’re going to visit three more sites on Anteia. I don’t know where Raj’s house is and I didn’t want to raise the subject with her, so I don’t know what that will mean on that front. Alya’s still here, anyway, as we start to pack up after the last show. We’re going to be moving overnight and over land. We won’t have to go through the hassle and stress of sedating the animals, but we still need to crate them up, load them, and then pack up and load the stables. To make everything more fun, we won’t be able to unload the animals or ourselves until the bubble is up.

  “That shouldn’t be too bad, though,” says Alya. “The boys will start build-up first thing in the morning.”

  “After pulling down in the evening and driving half the night?”

  “Yup.”

  “Sounds brutal.”

  “It is. Moves on planet are much harder on them than on the rest of us. But while they’re on ship most of them don’t work, so they don’t get paid. That’s not much good to them either.”

  “Why are they here, then? What do they want?”

  Alya shrugs. “They’re here for the credit, so they can build themselves better lives, but half of them seem to lose sight of that goal after a while. This place can do that to you. Your entire life revolves around the show. After a while it becomes the only thing in your life.”

  “But you love it.”

  “I do. But I didn’t lose much by coming here.” She shudders. “Kid, I don’t want to get into that. You have a way of asking questions.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “No, it’s good. You ask questions as if you cared about the people giving you the answers, as well as the answers themselves. It makes you easy to talk to. But I don’t wanna talk about this right now. Ok?”

  2.

  I manage to doze off a little bit once we set off, but barely. Moving on planet is nowhere near as smooth as moving through space.

  We get to our new site early in the morning, before anyone else does, and after we’ve checked the animals we have nothing to do until the portabubble is up. We all turn in for some sleep, but in no time at all the rest of the convoy arrives, shattering the silence and waking all the animals up. Their mood seems to match ours.

  “I warned you,” says Alya. “Sleep-deprived animals are assholes.”

  “How often does this go on?” asks Tom, who narrowly avoided catching a hoof to the face only minutes ago.

  “Not often. Once a week, at most. Our moving costs are high, so it’s just not worth going anywhere unless we can stay a week or so and make some serious credit.”

  “It’s always about the credit,” Tom whines.

  “It has to be. Do you want to end up washed up somewhere, our kit sold to the highest bidder? Gods only know what would happen to the animals.”

  “If it’s that bad, why bother? There’s plenty of better ways of making a living. Easier ways.”

  “Sure, but none of them make a circus happen. Circus is its own end. You don’t do it for the credit; you do it because you love it. Or because you have no other choice.”

  “Who’s got no choice?”

  “Someone whose only talent is a circus act. Hard for them to make a living elsewhere. Some of them may make it as entertainers in clubs or theatres, but that takes more than the same five-minute act repeated twice a day. And that’s not the only problem, anyway. It’s hard for some of them to live elsewhere. Staying in one place changes everything. You have to deal with your problems. You can’t just leave them behind every week.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” I turn to scowl at him, but it’s too late to get him to suck the question back.

  Alya gives him a hard stare. “Partly. I came for the wrong reasons, stayed because I love it. Now I’m going to go to my ATR, because I can.”

  I can’t blame her. Tom knows better than to ask a question like that. Pulling a stunt like that back in juvie would have earned him a pasting. We’re all in a foul mood, though. We got fuck-all sleep last night and it’s unlikely we’ll get fuck-all sleep while the build-up is going on. There’s just too much noise. I’m too tired to do anything but lie down and curse my life. When the worst of the noise stops, our work starts.

  It’s mid-morning before we can set the stables up, mid-afternoon before all the animals are squared away. Alya has helped us, but she’s not said a word throughout. The rest of us aren’t any more inclined to be chatty. I’m so tired I feel physically sick. Everything is misery.

  I’m looking forward to letting myself drop on the ground and die, when I see a now-familiar fancy ATR roll in. It takes me a few moments to work out whether it’s real or I’m hallucinating.

  Raj walks down the tunnel carrying a large box. When he gets to us, he frowns.

  “You all look like shit, and miserable with it. I brought food. It will be waiting for you when you’re done. Is there anything I can do to help? Even if it’s going away.”

  Alya tries to smile at him. “No, it’s ok. We were just finishing. You shouldn’t have.”

  “I didn’t do it because of shoulds. I wish the gods I could help. I know I don’t know anything, but I’m capable of following orders.”

  “Jameson would have my hide. You sit down. Won’t be long.”

  It really doesn’t take us long to finish up, though it seems to take twice as long as normal. When we get back to the bunks, Raj has set the food out for us. It smells great, but I’m so tired it’s an effort to eat it. I don’t even attempt to make conversation. None of us do. I feel bad for Raj, who came all this way to see us. He looks both sad and angry, but I don’t think he’s angry at us.

  “Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “Nope,” mumbles Alya.

  “Any food?”

  “Nah.”

  “You know this is unhealthy? Unsafe?”

  “It wasn’t by choice. I was piloting, and then there was too much noise. And first I was too busy to eat, then too tired. I didn’t really think about it. You know how it is.”

  “I know. It’s not good.”

  “It is how it is.”

  “Don’t you go all Old Terran at me. Get yourself to bed. Please. I want you well.”

  “You drove all this way…”

  “To see you. Because I… like you. Not to make you more tired.”

  Alya exhales and sags in her chair. “Thank you. I just need to rest my eyes for a moment.”

  “Sure. But you can rest them lying down on your bed. Ok?”

  “Will you stay?” she asks in a small voice. “I won’t be good company.”

  Raj looks stunned at first, then conflicted between joy and sorrow. “You must be overtired to ask like that. But yes. Of course. Anything you want.”

  Nicky gives me a kick under the table. I look at him, and he points at our bunks with his eyes. Oh.

  I get off my chair. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go to sleep. Thank you for the food. Will we see you soon?”

  “Tomorrow. If you want to.”

  I pull Tom’s arm and he shakes himself off from the half-sleep he was in. “Yes. Thank you for the food. Night.”

  Kolya gets up too and pats Raj on the shoulder. We all disappear into our bunks.

  The rest of the week goes much as the week before. Work is getting easier. The more we know, the less I have to worry about, the calmer the animals are around me. We finish our morning duties on time, which is great because we’re near a bubble. We can go check it out. I’m pretty psyched by that. The only time I’ve been anywhere that wasn’t home was that afternoon with
Alya and Raj, and I didn’t really get to see much. Plus I felt I was just tagging along, not exploring. This is way cooler. Even Tom thinks so. He’s slowed down his pursuit of the dancers and taken to walking around the bubble with me instead. Half the time we end up bumping into circus people anyway. They seem a bit friendlier out here, more ready to greet us and even exchange a few sentences.

  It’s really weird how easy it is to spot circus people, even in a crowd. Most people here are darker skinned than most of us, but that’s not it. There is something about how circus people carry themselves that makes them stick out, as if they were slightly bigger, or brighter, or somehow more real than regular people. Apart from Alya, that is.

  Tom and I are in a market, wasting our time looking at shit we can’t possibly afford and don’t dare to try and steal. I don’t know how long Alya has been standing next to us before I spot her. When I do, it makes me jump. She seems to find that highly entertaining.

  “Ha. Amateurs.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” snaps Tom. He didn’t spot her either, otherwise he wouldn’t be so pissy.

  “Right now, proving to you that you’re not half as streetwise as you think you are. In broader terms, window shopping. I don’t need anything, but I like to look around. Plus if I’m offsite Jameson can’t hassle me. Have you blown your wages yet?”

  “What? How the hell would you know that?”

  She wiggles her fingers in front of his face. “Secret psi-gift. Or the fact that I’ve seen plenty of twerps like you do the same damn thing.”

  Tom bristles up and I know he’s about to say something he won’t regret, but I will, so I cut in.

  “Would it cost you extra to be nice? If you’re trying to tell us something, you could do so without sprinkling abuse all over it. We may be able to hear you better that way.”

  “You’re no fun. But you’re right. Can I try again?”

  We nod, Tom somewhat curtly.

  “You’ve got credit in your pocket, maybe for the first time ever, maybe not. Maybe for the first time ever you’ve got more than you need. Once you cover your food, you’ve got no concerns, right? Your air is paid for – by your labor, admittedly, but it’s paid for. And you know you’ll get more credit next week. So it can all feel really comfortable, really safe. That makes it damn easy to spend the credit you’ve got, because you’re going to get more soon, right? Plus you work hard for it, so you deserve to treat yourselves. Get nice clothes, get your bunks done up so girls are more likely to want to stay over, that kind of thing.” I have to stop myself looking at Tom, because I know exactly what his credit went on. “Every place we go has got something new, something you’ve not seen before and you might not get to see again. There’s all this nice stuff all around you. And you genuinely need some of it. You came on show with hardly anything. Just remember…” she trails off.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just not a nice thing to say. Just remember that your life isn’t really your own at the moment. Remember how much you depend on the show. If you had to quit tomorrow, if you were left here with whatever you’ve got, stuff and credit, how far would you get? How long would you survive? Some of the places we get to, if you can’t buy your air they don’t arrest you: they space you. You’d need food and shelter and whatever else until you get yourselves squared off, and that could take a while. So you might want to plan for that. Or think about it, anyway. There are boys here who came for a season to save up credit to take home, and years later they’re still here and still have no credit. There are artists who retire or are forced to quit and only then they realize how hard it can be to break into normal life. They never had to worry about it, so they don’t even know what there is to worry about.”

  “And you do,” growls Tom.

  Alya’s eyes narrow. “And I do. Because I’ve done the same. I found myself with a bag on my back, ready to quit a show, needing to get the hell away, and realized that I had nowhere to go and no means to get there. So I had to turn around and go back to putting up with shit I could have really done without. And I tell you, knowing that I was stuck there didn’t make it any easier to cope. Having only myself to blame didn’t help either. Oh, fuck it. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, or to spoil your fun. I’m trying to stop you fucking up the same way I fucked up. Because that sucked. But you don’t have to listen to me, or anyone else. Have fun.” She walks off.

  Tom looks at me in open disgust. “Would you believe that woman? She’s got to be the most miserable creature who ever lived.”

  “I’m not so sure. I mean, she might have a point.”

  “Say what?”

  “Well, I don’t really know what goes into having a normal life. I’ve never done it. How you get a place to live, how much it all costs, and all that. I have no idea. I know my folk were always complaining about how expensive everything was, but I don’t know what their credit went into.”

  “I know where most of my dad’s credit went. First into a bottle, and then down the ‘fresher. And that’s when his aim was good.”

  “I don’t think Alya would lie about buying air, about getting spaced. I’d like to know that I can get myself out of the shit if I need to.”

  “So you’re planning on having a miserable time now to avoid having a miserable time later?”

  I frown. “No. I think I’m going to try and avoid both of those.”

  “On 75 a week? Good luck.”

  “I didn’t say that I knew I could, just that I’d like to try.”

  “You do whatever you want. I’m going to make myself nice and comfy and enjoy what I have. And don’t think for a moment that you can get away with being tight and using my shit, 'cause I won’t let you.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Ok then. But I’m still pissed off at you for being a miserable bastard. Life’s hard enough without you bringing me down.”

  I shut up then, because I know there’s no point in talking. Anything I say would only make things worse. We carry on through the markets, Tom grabbing all sorts of cool shit to make his bunk into a proper home. There’s a heap of stuff I’d like to get too, but I don’t. Tom gives me a few disgusted looks, but doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.

  When we get back to the show he goes to set up his stuff, and I go to find Alya. I’ve got some time to kill before work starts and I want to get this sorted rather than have it preying on my mind.

  Alya’s in the office, which is not a place I like to visit. Jameson’s ATR is nowhere in sight, though, so I risk going in.

  “You got time?”

  “Never enough,” she sighs. “Come in. Don’t shut the door. What’s up?”

  “What you said about the credit. I don’t know anything about that. I don’t know what I need to do and I don’t wanna get stranded or spaced.”

  “It’s not usually as bad as that. It’s just something to think about. You think about it, you make a plan, then you get on with enjoying your life.”

  “I get you. I just don’t know how to make that plan.”

  “It’s just a case of working out what you want and what you’re going to do to get it. And then doing it. Say you want a fuck-off fund.”

  “A what?”

  “Enough credit that if you want to fuck off, you’ll be able to without ending up in the shit. You work out how much you need and save up until you have it. Or you can work out how much you can afford to save without having a miserable time, put it aside and pretend it’s just not there.”

  “That sounds easier. I can do that.”

  “Just… Don’t tell people about it, ok? Not even Tom.”

  “What? Why?”

  “If people find out you’ve got a stash of credit somewhere, someone may decide to steal it.”

  Now I’m pissed off. “Tom would never do that to me!”

  “No. But he might tell someone, and they might.”

  “This sounds more and more like fucking juvie.”

&n
bsp; “I’m sorry. But it’s true. Stash what you want somewhere safe, somewhere you can get to it quickly, and keep your trap shut about it. Best way. Your papers, too. Have a bug-out bag.”

  “A what?”

  “A bag with all the stuff you don’t want to lose if you need to leg it.”

  “Shit. Now this sounds like home.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says again, and she looks it. “Hopefully you’ll never need it.”

  “But you did.”

  “I did,” she nods. “And I didn’t have it. But my circumstances were different. I’d messed up. You haven’t. Don’t fret about it. Ok?”

  “Ok.”

  “Now fuck off, kid. I gotta work, and so do you.”

  “Thanks?”

  She shrugs. “For what, bringing you down? Anytime.”

  3.

  The next move is another on-planet move. I know what I’ve got to brace myself for this time, so I try to get some sleep at lunchtime. I fail, but at least I’m a bit more rested.

  Pull-down doesn’t get any easier mentally for knowing how much it’s all going to suck, but I think I’m getting stronger. A lot of stuff seems less like hard work, and I can do stuff on my own that I’ve needed Tom for up to now.

  The distance we’re covering is longer. As soon as we’re loaded Tom and I find our bunks, strap ourselves in, and do our level best to sleep. I feel like an asshole letting Alya pilot on her own, but it won’t help her any if we’re too tired for the build-up. I actually manage to sleep, or at least pass out. I don’t wake up until our landing jolts me. The animals are making a fuss by then, so we get up and help Kolya sort them out. I have no idea where we are, or what time it is. I just know what I need to do, so I do it, hardly able to think. Tom looks equally zonked. Kolya looks surly as hell. There’s no sign of Alya.