Star Wanderers: Tales of the Far Outworlds (Omnibus V-VIII) Page 10

  “Shvila chemo,” she said. Our child.

  For several moments, Jakob didn’t know what to say. He supposed that there were things people were supposed to do or feel when they learned that they were about to have a baby, but all he felt was an awful sense of constriction, as if the walls were closing in, or the universe itself were collapsing.

  “Is it a girl or a—I mean, ra ikinebs, gogo da bichi?”

  She answered with a nod, making his heart sink all the more. For religious reasons, the Deltans didn’t practice fetal gene melding or womb enhancement. They didn’t even believe in mapping the baby’s chromosomes, which meant that they wouldn’t know the gender of the child until the start of the second trimester. If the suspense didn’t kill him, the revelation certainly would.

  “What do we now?” he asked, speaking in broken Deltan. The question was more for himself than for her, but giving it voice helped to fill the silence.

  “Our family will throw a housewarming party,” she explained, speaking slowly enough that he could understand her. “Father, sisters, brothers-in-law, aunts, uncles, cousins—everyone will come.”

  “And after? What after?”

  She laughed. “Don’t be afraid, Jakob. Everything will be fine.”

  “I don’t afraid,” he said quickly, but that wasn’t true. He was terrified. It felt as if the universe were spinning out of control all around him—as if he were falling into a black hole, the singularity stretching him beyond all recognition.

  “Me excuse,” he said abruptly, bolting for the door. He needed space—he needed air. Salome’s face fell, and she seemed about to run after him, but she hesitated for just a split second, and he took advantage of that moment to leave.

  It had only been a few months since they’d been married. To her, perhaps it felt like a lifetime, but a part of him still expected to pick up and leave any day for another voyage across the stars. God knew that was all he was good for—he wasn’t cut out for stationer’s work. His new father-in-law was helping him get adjusted to his new job at the shipyards, but it wasn’t something he could see himself doing for the rest of his life. And as for the language, he doubted he’d ever fully master it.

  The door hissed shut behind him, leaving him alone in the narrow courtyard. The horizon of the planet Megiddo glowed a deep blue, while the night side of the world seemed like a giant pool of black drifting amid the starry sea. He looked up at the endless carpet of tiny, unblinking lights and clenched his fists. Each one looked so small and yet so perfect—millions of silent beacons full of worlds he had never seen. And now, he would never see any of them.

  The door to the apartment across the way hissed open, and an old, plump woman stepped out with a crying baby. The noise shattered the solitude, a reminder of just how cramped the living space on Megiddo Station really was. Unlike most outworlders, the Deltans married young—insanely young—and started cranking out babies as soon as possible. The station master, Jeshua Korha, had five daughters, and his family was by no means the largest. Even with all the constant expansions and nonstop construction, it wasn’t enough to keep up with the population growth. The place was a cesspit of humanity—and he was trapped in it.

  You’re not being fair, he told himself as he climbed down the stairs to the rimside corridor. It was your choice to settle down here—your choice to marry into this culture. And really, there were a lot of good things to look forward to here. The people here were more honest and genuine than anywhere else he’d been, and they knew how to take care of their own. And Salome—even after just the few short months they’d known each other, he couldn’t imagine a future without her.

  But was this really the life he wanted?

  The rimside corridor was packed from wall to wall. All the docking nodes were full, mostly with sublight haulers that had just come in from the inner planets. Everywhere, pilots and crewmen in their gray, utilitarian jumpsuits embraced their wives and children. That would be him in a few short years, unless he ran away and abandoned his young wife—and he would never be able to live with himself if he did that.

  I just want to be alone, Jakob thought as he shouldered his way through the crowds. Where the hell can I be alone?

  The answer was obvious, of course. The Medea was in long-term parking on the docking arm that jutted out from the station hub. He hadn’t been on board his old ship for weeks, but it wouldn’t take long to warm up the cabin from cold storage and get the life support systems fully online. They would be ready in the time it took him to get there.

  The tram was empty when he arrived. It took about half an hour for the car to fill: resources were tight, so the runs to and from the hub didn’t follow a set schedule unless there was demand. Jakob passed the time by staring out the window at the dull gray bulkhead, his mind drifting.

  A baby, he thought to himself. My wife is going to have a baby. His in-laws would throw a massive party, with a host of social and cultural obligations. Navigating those would be difficult, but he was confident that he was up to the challenge. He’d come so far in the last few months, learning a new language and culture. He was even starting to get a grasp on the Deltan religion, though he hadn’t yet been baptized. With the baby, though, he didn’t see how he could put that off much longer.

  Had Salome tricked him? No, that wasn’t fair—if anything, it was just another cultural misunderstanding. She’d been so eager about ordering their new life together, and he’d been all too happy to oblige. And really, there was a lot he had to look forward to. Salome was a wonderful woman, and he knew that they would be very happy together.

  Then why did he feel like he was stumbling into his future, tripping over his feet before he knew where he was going?

  After what felt like hours, the doors hissed shut and the tram began to pull out. The dull gray bulkheads passed in slow succession, and the track turned upward until he was lying on his back. WARNING: LOW-GRAVITY AREA read the warning at the front of the cabin. Jakob gripped the shoulder restraints as the tram cleared the main station wheel, stars shining through the windows.

  The artificial gravity at the hub was a little lighter than on the rim. Jakob could tell by the way his feet didn’t drag quite so much as he stepped onto the platform. A crowd of about twenty or thirty people waited to take the tram back down, but the corridors beyond the platform were conspicuously empty.

  The walls of the docking arm were drab and gray, the lights dim. Jakob walked slowly to his starship, a horrible sense of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. A part of him felt as if he were going to the Medea for the last time. Perhaps he was.

  He ran his fingers across the airlock before palming it open. Once he was inside, it took a minute for the pressure to equalize. He tapped the floor nervously with his foot, shivering a little in the chill recycled air.

  The inner door hissed open, and the familiar scent of old, worn synthleather met his nose. He stepped inside, still running his hand across the smooth metal surface of the EV suit lockers. Out of habit, he reached up and grabbed a handhold as he passed. They were spaced evenly across the walls and ceiling. The once-white floor tiles had yellowed a little from age, but the cabin was clean and tidy, exactly how he’d left it. To his right, the ship’s dual bunks sat embedded like narrow slits in the wall, while the couch on the left made a semicircle around the table on that side of the room. The Medea was definitely larger than most single-pilot starships, but was still cozy enough that Jakob never felt as if someone were missing.

  Until now.

  As he drifted around the cabin, checking the holo projector and food synthesizer, he realized that the place seemed unusually empty. Perhaps it had something to do with how clean everything was—usually, the second bunk was piled with clothes, with unwashed dishes on the couch and table. But that wasn’t it.

  He shook his head and stepped into the cockpit. The forward window was long and narrow, running horizontally from one side of the room to the other. Dozens of control panels and display screens
filled the space above and below it. A pair of overstuffed synthleather chairs sat behind the controls, though the ship was perfectly capable of flying with just one pilot.

  Normally, he ignored the second chair, but this time he couldn’t help but stare at it. He’d inherited the ship from his father, who had inherited it in turn from his grandfather. Originally a deep space hauler, it had been rebuilt practically from the floor up. Still, certain original features remained, like the dual bunks and piloting chairs. Since leaving his home at the Varvav system, he’d gotten used to those, as well as a hundred other quirks that made the Medea unique. But now, after living on a station for nearly three months, even his old familiar starship felt strange.

  No, he thought, clenching his fists. Not here—anywhere but here. It was as if he’d returned to his sanctuary, only to find it desecrated.

  But perhaps that was normal. He wasn’t a star wanderer anymore, after all—he was a married man; a stationer; a Deltan. If his starship felt a bit like an empty shell now, perhaps that was the way it should be.

  I could have left with her, he realized, looking at the second pilot’s chair. There was plenty of room on the Medea for a second passenger, though things would be uncomfortably tight with any more. To travel from star to star with his wife—he realized all at once that the possibility had been in the back of his mind from the very beginning. When Salome had pushed him to marry her, he’d only agreed to it because he knew that he could always take her away with him. Only now, with a baby on the way, had it finally sunk in that he had permanently settled down.

  I might never fly this ship again, he thought as he ran his fingers across the familiar controls. The thought filled him with a deep sadness, like the death of a close friend. He choked back his tears, unwilling to cry even in a place where no one could see him. That wasn’t the kind of man he was. But still, the emotions were overwhelming.

  Was this how his father had felt when his mother had been pregnant with him? Jakob wasn’t so naïve to think that he was the first one who’d felt this way. If the ship had once been his father’s—as it certainly had—then it stood to reason that his father had gone through the same strange mixture of emotions, or at least something similar. The thought comforted him a little as he stepped out of the cockpit and back into the cabin.

  Someday, he thought, my son is going to fly this ship. He’ll inherit it the way I inherited it from my father, and it will take him to all the places where I could never go. The realization was like a pressurized water reservoir bursting inside of him. His eyes burned until he couldn’t hold back any longer. In a deep, solemn silence, he let the tears freely flow.

  My son. If one part of his life was ending, another was just beginning.

  Chapter 8

  How are we going to pay for this? Jakob thought as he surveyed the family room. The place was packed with friends and relatives, as well as a few relatives of friends from around the immigrant community. The women had gone all out with the food, with expensive yogurt balls and fried curdbread with chicken. It smelled delicious, but made him wince to think how much it must have cost.

  He did his best to put on a good face, though. These sorts of parties were always the happiest time for the family, and he didn’t want to be the one who ruined things for everyone. So he took a platter of food from his mother-in-law and sat down against the wall, a good ways away from Noemi and the center of commotion.

  “Hey Dad,” said Mariya as Jakob just finished off the chicken. “How goes it?”

  “It goes,” he muttered. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

  She laughed. “You say that as if it’s a chore.”

  Maybe it is, sometimes.

  “I can’t remember the last time we had a party like this,” she said, glancing around the room. “It’s been too long.”

  “It’s been less than a year. Leah had her baby not too long ago.”

  “I know, Dad, but not like this,” she said, gesturing with her hands. “I mean, look—all the neighbors are here, with their kids and grandkids. They’re practically spilling out into the hall!”

  He tried and failed to suppress a frown. “I hope they’ve brought something to contribute to the food, then.”

  Mariya waved her hand dismissively, the thought of freeloaders completely absent from her mind. “Oh, don’t worry—of course they have. Oma’s got everything organized. They know what a big deal it is for Noemi.”

  Jakob nodded. The celebrations for the first child were always the biggest. Leah’s latest baby was her fourth, so the housewarming party hadn’t been such a big deal, but for Noemi, they had held back nothing. Over on the far side of the room, Opa Jirgis had pulled out the smallpipes and was playing a traditional folk tune. Two teenage boys from down the hall started dancing, and a circle began to form around them. They threw their arms wildly across their chests and spun nimbly on their toes, much to the delight of the younger women.

  “Well, I’d better go,” said Mariya. “Cheer up, Dad—loosen up a little!”

  “I’m plenty cheerful,” Jakob grumbled. His daughter scampered off in the direction of the music and was soon dancing with the two boys, passing from one to the other like the belle that she was.

  She takes after her mother, he thought as he watched her. There was a time when he’d felt a lot like those boys, caught up in the vortex that was courtship and romance. But Salome had always been better at it than him—more natural, not as stiff. He’d always struggled to keep up. And when the courtship turned to marriage and family life, he’d always felt as if he were dancing two steps behind her.

  Well, no matter. What was done was done, and there was no use dwelling on the past. What mattered was the present, and that meant doing all he could to make sure that Noemi and Jeremiah felt like they belonged.

  As Jakob finished off the last of his plate, he glanced at the crowded doorway. Jeremiah still stood there, welcoming the latecomers as they drifted in. He looked a bit stiff, his face somewhat pale—more like an usher at a court hearing than a proud father-to-be. Jakob grinned—he knew exactly how it felt.

  Setting his empty plate on his chair, he navigated the crowd until he was at the door. Jeremiah didn’t notice him until the last moment. It gave Jeremiah a bit of a start, but he recovered quickly.

  “Hello,” he said, taking Jakob’s outstretched hand. “I’d welcome you to the party, but …”

  Jakob chuckled. “That’s all right. You’re doing a fine job.”

  “I’ve got to be honest—it’s a bit overwhelming.”

  “That’s to be expected,” he said, putting a hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder. “It certainly was for me.”

  Jeremiah glanced over his shoulder and leaned in, keeping his voice low. “It’s not just the party, though—it’s everything. I don’t think I’ll ever totally understand Noemi’s language, or her culture.”

  “Neither did I, at first.”

  “How did you do it?”

  Jakob shrugged. “Necessity, I suppose. We all tend to change over time. I’m not the same person I was when I met my wife, and you won’t be the same person in twenty years either.”

  “I guess so. It’s just—I don’t know.”

  “What is it? Come on, spit it out.”

  Jeremiah swallowed. “Do you think it’s for the better? These changes, I mean. Since you’ve settled down with your wife, can you say that you’ve changed for the better?”

  Before Jakob could reply, another guest stepped through the door, drawing Jeremiah’s attention. It was just as well, since Jakob didn’t know how to answer that question. A frown crossed his face as he took a moment to ponder it.

  “Sorry,” said Jeremiah, returning a few moments later. “I guess the thing I’m really worried about is what we’re going to do for the next few months. How am I going to take care of her?”

  Jakob nodded, relieved at the change of subject. “What’s your plan for now?”

  “Well, I spent almost all my profits from
the last trade on upgrades to my ship. I could sell back the goods in my cargo hold, but—”

  “You need a job,” he said, nodding. He knew all too well what that was like.

  “Yeah, I guess,” said Jeremiah. He took a deep breath. “I’ve already paid rent through the end of the month, though, so it’s not like I have any debts on that end.”

  “No, of course not. Don’t worry—I know a guy who might be able to help.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. He’s the foreman at the dockyards, though we all call him ‘Chief.’”

  “Do you think he can get me a job with you?”

  Probably not, kid, Jakob thought silently. The Gaian Imperials had disbanded the local assemblies just last week, taking away what little public voice the immigrants still had. Rumor had it that the Gaians planned to establish population controls, penalizing families with more than two children. With all the rampant anti-Deltan bigotry on the station, the Alphans would probably be all too happy to comply.

  “Maybe,” he said. “If not at the dockyards, then maybe something under the table.” Chief had plenty of connections, and could almost certainly find the kid something—even if it was just a minimum wage job at the waste treatment facilities.

  The look of relief on Jeremiah’s face spoke volumes. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so very much.”

  “No problem, kid. We outworlders have got to look out for each other, right?”

  “Right.”

  Jakob nodded and turned back into the crowd before the kid got too gushy. He didn’t like asking help from anyone, and felt uncomfortable when others had to ask help from him. There was something about the act of asking that reduced a man, made him seem like a failure. He didn’t mind offering help where it was needed, but it always made him a little uneasy to see people reduced to needing it.

  It’s my gift to the newly expecting couple, he decided as he returned to his seat against the wall. I might not be able to afford a more traditional gift, but I can give them this.