Among The Stars (Heinlein's Finches Book 2)

by Robin Banks

  “Well, fuck it. We have about ten minutes before the life support cuts out. You need to get some liquids inside you. Warm liquids, ideally.” She rubs her face. “No. First things first. Go outside and take a piss. Now. Last chance you have until morning.” She helps me get up and out of the ATR. “Here’ll do. Get on with it. I won’t peep but I really don’t want to help.”

  I know I should mind this, her being here and me pissing right in front of her ATR, but I’m finding it hard to. I also find it hard to handle myself. My hands aren’t working properly. When I finally manage to get my dick out I realize how cold they are. Still, I gotta do what I gotta do.

  “Finished? Get back in there.”

  I plop myself on the floor again. I wish Laika was here. I remember her soft warmth. That makes the talons in my throat grip me harder.

  “Here. Drink.” As she passes over the mug, the life support alarm goes off. “Drink it quick and I’ll make another one.” I don’t know what it is, but it tastes awful and I don’t really want it. I don’t really want to argue, though, so I down it. I’m starting to feel really weird. My skin is warming up, but my bones feel freezing cold. Even the heat of the drink isn’t helping. I’m burning with cold.

  Alya hands over my second drink as the power cuts out. I hear the click of a switch and her little lights come on. It’s not bright, but it’s pretty. I’m hurting too much to appreciate it, though. I think I messed myself up. My lips feel like they belong to me again, so I try speaking.

  “Thank you. You go sleep. Sorry.”

  Alya’s face twitches. “How are you feeling?”

  “Cold. Inside.”

  She touches my forehead and hands. “You feel boiling hot.”

  “Not inside.”

  “Come on. Get into bed.”

  “No. I’m dirty. Your bed.”

  “You need to wrap up warm.”

  “Fine here. You go to bed. Sorry.”

  “You’ve said that already. Ok. I’ll get you a blanket and you can stay down there, but you’ll barely be able to stretch out. You’re getting too damn tall. I want you to wake me up if you feel ill. Ok? And this,” she puts down a container by the door, “is if you feel sick, or need to pee. Sorry. Best I can do.”

  “Sorry. Too much trouble.”

  “Are you going to tell me what happened? You know better than to end up in this kind of state.”

  I shake my head.

  “Ok. Well, if you need me, you know where I’ll be. Now turn around and close your eyes. I need to change for bed.”

  “Shit. Shouldn’t be here. People will think all sorts.”

  “That was a given the moment I closed the door. Don’t worry about it. Get some rest, if you can. But call me if you need me. Can you promise me that? If you don’t, I won’t be able to sleep either.”

  “Ok.”

  She turns the little lights off and I hear her getting into bed. I feel exhausted, but I’m hurting too much for sleep. My bones are frozen and my skin is on fire. The talons in my chest are squeezing me and the pain feels real, feels physical, but it can’t be.

  Tom.

  I realize that I managed to fall asleep when I wake up. I’m not hurting. That feels weird. When I think about Tom there’s a hollow pain in my chest, but my body is fine apart from a sore throat. And I really need to pee. I have no idea what the time is and how long I’d have to wait to go outside for it, but it feels early and I don’t want to spend the rest of the night awake. Plus it can’t get any worse between me and Alya. What do I lose by pissing in here? Whatever dignity I had evaporated last night. I don’t care what Alya thinks of me now. I don’t care what anyone thinks.

  I slowly crawl my way to the container by the door and do my thing, trying not to wake her up. I fail, because shortly after I’ve made my way back to my blanket she murmurs “Are you ok?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t sound ok.”

  “Sore throat, is all.”

  “That’s not what I meant. If you want to tell me, you know where I am.”

  When the life support alarm goes off, it jolts me awake. It takes me a while to work out where I am and why I’m there. The hole in my chest opens up again. Tom. But I have more pressing things to deal with, like the bowl full of piss at my feet, the fact that I reek of booze and vomit, and how the hell I’m going to get out of here without being seen.

  I’m still trying to figure that out when Alya peers out from under her covers. “You might as well scram. It’s not going to get better for waiting and I need to change.”

  “Everyone is going to know I spent the night here and think the worst.”

  “Everyone probably already knows, and they always think the worst. It can’t be helped. If you came out with the real story, they’d think it was just a cover up for us fucking and that we’re embarrassed. That’d only make it more interesting for them. Sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry? It’s your reputation I’m ruining.”

  “Ha. First off I don’t care, and anyway I don’t have a reputation that can be defended. Though it may make things a bit lively with the boys.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see it if it happens. You gotta get going, though. We’ll be late.”

  I get up and get out, bowl of piss in hand. I tip that out on my way to my bunk. I can’t see anyone around, but I know that doesn’t mean anything. When I get home, Tom’s door is still shut. I get out of my clothes, torn between putting them in the laundry pile and the bin, and have a quick wash. My face in the mirror doesn’t look right. The knuckles on my right hand are split. I think those are teeth marks on them, but I’m not sure.

  I’m on my way out when Tom rolls up. He gets out of that fancy ATR, smiling broadly. He looks good. He looks happy. He looks just like this guy I used to know. He’s too busy chatting with the guys in the ATR to see me walking away.

  I’m so late that Hugh is already at the stables, waiting. He smiles that inane smile of his at me and chirps “You’re late.”

  “So are you.”

  “What? I’m here!”

  “Are you working?”

  “I was waiting for you to…”

  “You’ve been here how long? And you still need me to tell you which way round a shovel works. What does that say about you?”

  His face falls. “I’m sorry, I…”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you.”

  He’s still trying to mouth off at me, so I pick him up by the front of his shirt and hiss right in his face. “I said I don’t want to hear you.” I stare at him until his bottom lip starts to quiver, then I drop him and go to get my tools. I’ve got shit to shovel. Hugh doesn’t say a word for the rest of the morning. That suits me just fine.

  When I get back to my bunk for lunch, Tom’s sitting on my steps. I’m in no mood for this.

  “Can I get in?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Only thing I need is my lunch.”

  He sits there staring at me for a few moments, then gets out of my way. Good. I didn’t feel like having a situation. Breathing burns my lungs, and I’m hungry. The last meal I had came out the wrong way.

  He’s not getting the fucking hint, though, because when I get into the bunk he walks in with me.

  “Get the fuck out of my house.”

  “Listen, this is ridiculous.”

  “Get out of my house, or I’ll make you.” I turn around to face him. He looks horrified and bolts out the door. I’m not sure if it’s because of what he sees in my eyes, or because I was holding a knife. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just trying to get my lunch ready. But hey, it worked.

  I spend my break staring at the ceiling. I’ve got nowhere I want to go and nothing I want to do. If I breathe too deeply I end up coughing so hard it feels like I’m bringing up nails. Music is playing in my head, but it’s dark, jarring, and repetitive. I could probably play it, but I don’t want to make it mo
re real by putting it out in the world.

  When I get back to the stables for the afternoon shift, Hugh is already busy shoveling. He seems to try very hard not to look at me, but he knows stuff I don’t so he’s gonna have to talk to me whether he likes it or not.

  “So, what’s the story?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve just been to lunch. Story must be out by now.”

  “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

  “You’re going to lie to me now? You really think that’s wise?” He looks terrified. “Out with it.”

  “Well, they say…”

  “Who’s 'they'?”

  “Everyone. I don’t know who started it. They say you had a one-time thing with Alya. Something you squared up with Nicky. Like a loan. And you’re not happy about how it went, or that it’s over.”

  “They think Nicky would lend Alya out? Like a pair of boots?”

  “Well, they were never official. And he’s third class, you know.”

  “And third class people lend their partners out?”

  “Well, it was never right her being with him. She should be with someone better.”

  “Obviously. You people make me so angry I want to hit you.” I say that as calmly as I can, but it still seems to scare him. He doesn’t say a word to me for the rest of the day.

  When we’re closing the stables up, Kolya collars me.

  “You see Alya today?”

  “Not since morning.”

  “Maybe you find her now? Talk to her?”

  “I’ve got nothing to tell her and she knows where I live.”

  He shakes his head. “I do not like this. You are a good kid.” His sadness is clawing at the hole in my chest, so I walk away from him.

  When I get to my bunk, Tom is sitting on his steps. I call this progress. He tries to talk to me, but I blank him out.

  The day after goes much the same way. And the one after, and the one after that. Alya is busy doing her own thing. I see Kolya at work and he occasionally tries to talk to me about whatever, but I don’t volunteer any information and he doesn’t pry. Hugh smiles at me rather tentatively a couple of times, but cuts it out immediately when I don’t smile back. He seems to work twice as fast now he’s learnt to shut up. I ought to have shaken him up sooner. Tom is always where I’m not.

  It takes three full days before I can talk and breathe without coughing. I guess whatever I caught isn’t going to kill me after all. It seems a shame. We’ve got two days left here before we’re due to move and I’m still nowhere near back to normal, physically or otherwise. I should be ok by then, though. I have to be, anyway: the circus isn’t going to move itself.

  About halfway through the morning, Alya comes over to get the feed order. I nod at her without stopping work. She looks like she’s thinking about coming over, but then she just nods back. Although that makes life easier, it still kinda hurts.

  She comes back later on with the feed. I see her in the distance unloading and carrying bales and sacks and boxes. Damn woman never asks for help, but that’s her choice. I’m about to turn back to my work when I see two of the boys heading towards her. They’ve got no business being here that I know of and there’s something about the way they’re moving that doesn’t sit well with me, so I keep on watching.

  They have a good look around, then one of them steps in front of Alya, blocking her way. That ain’t right, so I start walking over. The other boy standing behind her puts his arms around her waist. She goes rigid. I bet she’d turn around and slap him one, but her hands are full.

  “Let go of me. Now.”

  The guy standing in front of her smiles. “Be nice. We know you like it.”

  The guy behind her puts his mouth to her ear. “You like little Anglo child. We are men. We are better.”

  “Get your hands off me,” she growls.

  “Hands are no problem. Here.” He pulls her backwards against him, grinding his crotch into her back, before turning to smile at me. “You have a problem? She is yours?”

  “She’s not mine, but yeah, I have a problem. She told you to let her go.”

  “She don’t know how good this is. After she change her mind. If she don’t, no problem.”

  “Let go of her.”

  “Go away, little boy. Go shovel shit.”

  I’m still holding my shovel. He turns away to smile at his buddy. He’s still holding Alya, so I whack him on the head with the shovel as hard as I can. Turns out that’s pretty hard. He falls sideways, nearly pulling Alya over in the process, and collapses bleeding on the ground. His buddy just stares at me, frozen in his tracks. I walk over to the guy on the ground. He’s not dead. I can see his chest moving and the pulse in his neck. I put the blade of my shovel over the pulsating spot, thinking how easy it would be to stomp down on it and end it, when Alya grabs my arm.

  “Stop. Please. Stop this now.”

  She doesn’t say please very often, so I stop. She pulls me away from the guy. I’m still looking at him, so she grabs the sides of my face and tries to make me look at her, but I get her hands off me and she doesn’t try it again. The guy rolls over and touches his hand to his head. It comes back covered in shit and blood. He yells something to the other guy, who finally snaps out of it and goes to help him up. They stumble away, turning to look at me a few times. I lean on my shovel and watch them walk off. Alya is still standing in front of me, her mouth hanging open.

  “You want a hand with the rest of the load?” I ask her.

  “What?”

  “The feed. You want a hand getting it in?”

  She looks at me blankly. “How can you be so calm? You could have killed that guy.”

  “Yes. I could have. You stopped me. You want a hand or what?”

  She’s not answering and she’s standing there like she’s forgotten how to move, so I pick the stuff off the floor and I get the rest of the feed in.

  Nicky comes charging over. I get on with the unloading while he talks to Alya, then I go back to my shoveling. Hugh hasn’t done a damn thing while I was gone. I bet he just stood there gawping at us. I raise an eyebrow at him and he gets back to work straightaway.

  I’m lying on my bed after lunch when there’s a knock at the door. I don’t answer it, hoping that whoever it is will go away. It doesn’t work.

  “Luke? It’s Alya.”

  I’m tempted to leave her out there, but I doubt that’ll put her off, so I open the door and stand in the doorway.

  “May I come in?”

  “Is it a good idea?”

  “Probably not, but neither is standing here where everyone can see me.”

  I can’t disagree with that, so I back into the room and let her in. She leaves the door open behind her and sits on the floor by the doorway.

  “I don’t know what happened to you, but I know something did. And I’ve seen how you’ve been, and I’ve not seen Tom around, so I’m making some wild-ass assumptions here, which I know is not a good thing to do. But I can’t do anything else, so. I’m sure whatever I say will not help now. I’m sure nothing actually could. But I like you, and I care, and I ask you to consider that this could be temporary.”

  “Some things don’t get fixed.”

  “Tom…”

  “This isn’t about Tom. Not anymore.”

  “Tom’s your best friend.”

  “Tom was my brother. Now he isn’t. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Ok, then. This isn’t about Tom. That doesn’t change anything. Whatever got broken maybe can’t get fixed, but it could be overcome. Most things can. All you can do is pick the path you’ll take towards overcoming them.”

  “Very deep.”

  “Sounds ridiculous, I know. I just… Please, don’t fuck up your life and yourself just because someone else tried to. Someone hurting you is bad enough, particularly if it’s someone you care about. You hurting yourself is worse. You can never walk away from the sound of your own voice, or be far enough from
your own hands to be safe.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Not your business. Not the way you are being with me now. Maybe not ever. But right now your pain is too fresh and I don’t trust you not to spread it. I’m not up to getting savaged in the process of trying to help.”

  “Nice of you to say that.”

  “Fuck nice. I like you and I care enough to be here. Kolya likes you and he cares enough to stay away. I can’t speak for anyone else. But when whatever this is stops being everything there is, we will be here. Unless you push us away in the meanwhile. Which, if you carry on the way you have, is very, very likely.”

  “Now I’m confused. Are you trying to comfort me or threaten me?”

  “Neither. Every word I’ve said means precisely what it sounds like. No hidden messages. Please don’t fuck up everything you still have because of something you lost.”

  She gets up and starts to climb down the steps. She made me angry. Now I feel like hurting her or myself. I’m already hurting plenty, so I blurt it out. “Tom tried to prostitute me.”

  She stops dead, her waist level with the floor of the bunk. Her face goes from shock to exhaustion way too quickly for my taste, so I hammer her again.

  “I think it was just to one guy. To start off, anyway. Until he got fed up. Though the first would have probably paid more for the privilege of getting fresh meat.” She looks up at me then, her expression completely vacant. “He tried to be forceful about it.” Still nothing in her eyes. “He wasn’t our age. He was older. More like my stepdad’s age.” That’s when her face contorts into an agony of pain and revulsion. I thought hurting her would make me feel better, but instead it threatens to widen the hole in my chest.

  She climbs back up the ladder, sits down with her hands over her face, and says nothing for a while. Through the open door, I spot a couple of boys ambling past, peeping through as if by accident. Very subtle. A few moments later, when they amble back and peep again, I smile and wave at them. They scuttle past.

  Alya uncovers her face. She looks like I feel. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing I can do, is there?”