The Colonists (The Movement Trilogy) (22 page)

She was covering another worker's shift -- her third such pickup in a week's time, which meant Ishy could afford to eat in the proper dining hall at least once that month -- when the crash happened.

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Look -- look, she's okay. She's opening her eyes.
 

Ma'am, please. You can't see her until she's been properly evaluated.

She's okay. See? You have to let me see her. You have to let me.

Ma'am. Don't make me -- hey, Simon, Simon, can you come over here and help me with --

Fine, okay. Fine. I'm waiting. See? I'll wait.
 

Thank you. When she can have visitors, we'll notify you at your --

Oh, that won't be necessary. I'll wait. I'll wait right here.

You don't need to --

I'll wait.
 

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Ishy felt as if she'd been stuffed into a bag and kicked down a flight of stairs. Her shoulders ached terribly. Her first instinct was to look down at herself, but she quickly stifled the impulse. Moving her head at all sent bolts of pain down her neck and into her upper back.
 

Her mouth felt cottony, warm. Primordial.
 

There were lights nearby, dim ones, but they felt like surface spots to her. They made her retinas ache.

You're awake.

Ishy started to turn to her left, but the pain was too much. She groaned and squeezed her eyes against the sudden flare-up.

I'm sorry -- look, don't move. Don't move, okay?
 

A woman appeared above Ishy's head, and this was enough to give Ishy some context for her surroundings. She was clearly lying down, nearly immobile. Above her, that was a treatment room ceiling. She'd stared up at one the last time she'd inhaled too much dust in the bay.
 

She was hospitalized.

Are you okay? the woman asked.
 

The woman was pretty, in a rather ordinary way. Even from this unusual angle, Ishy could tell that the stranger carried herself in a way that suggested wisdom, power. The woman's strong shoulders and jaw were almost regal.
 

And that shock of white in her dark hair was striking.

Are you okay? the stranger asked again. Can you hear me?

Ishy started to nod, then thought better of it.

I can hear you, she said, startled by the raspiness of her own voice.
 

Oh, good, the woman said. I was very worried.
 

Ishy blinked. Who are you?
 

Goodness, I'm sorry, the woman said. My name is Tasneem. They told me your name is Megumi.

Ishy, Ishy whispered. Nobody calls me Megumi.

Ishy, Tasneem said. Why Ishy?

Ishiguro, Ishy said. Ishy.

Tasneem put a hand to her own forehead. Of course. Silly me.
 

What happened? Ishy asked.

Tasneem smiled regretfully.
 

I'm afraid I'm a lousy pilot, she said.
 

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I still can't believe you broke the bay door, Ishy said. I don't know how that's even possible.

With a transport pod, no less, Tasneem said. I know.
 

Those doors are seriously thick.
 

So is your head, Tasneem said. I can't believe you're not more seriously injured.

Well, my head hurts, Ishy said.
 

But still. They said you don't even have a concussion.

That's good, I guess. I need to get back to work.

Surely you can rest for a few days, Tasneem said.
 

If I rest for a few days, I won't have a job when I come back, Ishy said. There's a waitlist.
 

A waitlist, Tasneem said. You must have an amazing job.
 

Not exactly.

No? What do you do? Why were you on the platform when I -- when I crashed into it?

Ishy said, Put your finger behind my ear.
 

I'm sorry?

Just put your finger behind my ear, Ishy said.
 

Tasneem looked uncertain, but she pressed her finger against the soft dimple of skin behind Ishy's left earlobe.
 

Slide your finger down, Ishy said. Yes, just like that. Okay, now look at it.

Tasneem held up her finger so they could both see it.
 

My, Tasneem said.

The pad of her index finger was nearly white with dust.
 

Moon dust, Ishy said. I clean the platform you crashed into.
 

Jesus, Tasneem said. That must take forever.
 

It keeps credits in my pocket, Ishy said.
 

Tasneem shook her head. What do you dream of, Ishy?
 

What do you mean?
 

Nobody wants to scrub moon dust every day of their lives. If you could do anything, what --

I'd fly, Ishy said quickly.
 

Fly?
 

I'd hire myself out to a ship, and I'd go along and see the system. Easy.
 

You didn't even have to think about it, Tasneem said.
 

I guess not, no.
 

What would you hire out as? Surely not a cleaner.

Ship's mechanic, probably. But nobody would have me. You have to have years as an apprentice to get those jobs.
 

So have you tried to find an apprenticeship? Tasneem asked.

Ishy frowned. There's no use. Most of those jobs go to Machiners who marry into Onyx.
 

Surely not --

It's true, Ishy said. If I found a proper man, then I could get an apprenticeship just like that.
 

You don't sound like you buy it, Tasneem said.

Ishy tried not to shake her head. I don't think it's fair, she said. I'm no prodigy, but I'm a natural fixer. Mechanical things -- they just come to me, you know? But I don't want to have to sign my life away to some man just to get that job.

Tasneem smiled.

What? Ishy asked.

You're downright revolutionary, Tasneem said. I just don't think you know it yet.
 

What do you mean?
 

Oh, I'll tell you a bit more later, perhaps, Tasneem said. But let me ask you something first.

What's that? Ishy asked, a little suspicious.

How would you like to be my ship's mechanic?

The
Maasi
hangs in the belt like a smoldering coal. Sparks flit from its damaged hull and are extinguished in the vacuum outside. It is swept along in the belt like an asteroid itself. It might almost pass for one, if not for the cloud of shrapnel that floats about it.

Ishy stands on the bridge, staring through the windows at the current of rocks. Beyond the belt, she can see the sun, distant but bright. It breaks over a large asteroid, its rays needling the ship. Ishy squints, but does not move away from the glass. The sun is not warm today.
 

Tarae is sitting on the floor beside Ishy, her face damp. She looks up at Ishy.

She's gone, Tarae says. She's really and truly gone.

Ishy says nothing.

I've never known someone who died before, Tarae confesses. People always talk about how much it hurts when someone dies. Like their grief causes them actual, physical pain. You know?

Ishy is silent.
 

Tarae's voice cracks. They don't talk about how your insides just disappear, she says. Ishy, it's like everything inside of me is gone. I feel so empty. I actually feel empty. It was horrible to see her like that, just crumpled on the floor. Her hair was completely white, Ishy. You know what that means, don't you? She told all of us the story before, probably twenty times. Every other human being who took Soma died, she told us. Their hair went white, and then they just died. No mess, no blood, no reason. Just dead. She was the exception, Ishy. She was supposed to live forever. She was supposed to be the one woman who beat that stupid fucking drug.

The room echoes with Ishy's silence, and Tarae grabs Ishy's overalls and tugs.
 

Ishy, please talk to me, she pleads.
 

So Ishy does.

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When I was born, my mother died, Ishy says. It was like the dark ages on Meili, at least if you were a Machiner. Pregnant Machiners weren't given anything. No medicines if they needed them. No training. They were sent to a room with a table and a single attendant, and they would scream for hours, sometimes days, and then they would finally give birth out of pure exhaustion.
 

Tarae shivers.

The attendant would hand over the baby and leave, their job complete. Cutting the cord, that was up to the new parents. Bathing the baby was their job. They had to get the baby back to their quarters on their own. Most babies picked up some sort of virus between the birthing lockers and the residential compartments. There were stories of women who would bundle their babies to protect them from the germs that all the other people carried, only to get back to their compartments and find that they'd suffocated their baby. It was goddamn primitive, Ishy says.
 

You survived, though, Tarae says, her hand still resting on Ishy's knee.
 

I did, Ishy says. But my mother didn't. She died on the fucking table, like a peasant woman. My father saw her hold me, and then saw me slide out of her arms when they went limp. He caught me by the cord, Ishy says. By the cord, Tarae. Can you imagine? Everything slick with blood, my mother just -- just gone, just like that. And there he is, terrified and overwhelmed and alone and the world just wants to crack him in two.
 

I'm sorry, Tarae says. I can't imagine.
 

Ishy exhales and her breath fogs the glass. He gave me up, she says. After just a few days. I don't blame him, and I never did. I'm sure I just reminded him of my mother. Her name was Setsuko. I've never even seen a picture of her. I saw my father once, when I was a teenager. He didn't see me. I don't think he would have known me.
 

Tarae has no words.
 

From my earliest days as a Machine ward, Ishy says, I wanted to fix things. I broke my family, and I couldn't fix them, so I taught myself to fix a broken cup, and then a water spigot, and then a table that wobbled. I learned how to fix almost anything, so that I would never break something so irretrievably ever again. My entire life was penance for being born, Tarae.
 

Ishy looks down at Tarae, whose eyes have welled up.

I've had a long time to think about these things, Ishy says. Tasneem found me, and she gave me something irreplaceable. She gave me hope, and a new family, and she put these hands to work keeping dreams alive. And now she's gone, too, Tarae. And there was no time to thank her, no time to tell her goodbye.
 

I don't even know why she's dead, Tarae says, her voice breaking a little more.
 

Varien appears on the deck behind them.

I do, he says. I think you should both come with me.

The two women start to follow, but a blinking orange light draws Ishy's attention.

Tarae, she says, pointing.

Tarae goes to the communications console.

What is it? Varien asks, stepping in close.

It's Catrine, Tarae says.
 

What does she say? Ishy asks.

Tarae looks up at Varien, then switches the audio to speaker.

Tasneem... it's Catrine. I know that maybe this message is the last thing you want to hear. I'm sorry. I wouldn't send it, except -- well, I need help. I'm with a new friend. She's... she'll be your friend, too, I think. She's of the same mind. Tasneem, we're adrift, and I can't think of anybody else who might help us. I hope you'll put our differences aside, even just for a short time. I think it's important that the two of you meet.
 

We're on our way to you now. We caught a ride on a little boat, and they're going to put us off at Saffron. We'll get a pod from there. Please -- please don't say no. You're all we have now.

I -- we'll see you soon.

Tarae's eyes glisten with new tears.
 

Catrine, she says. She's going to come apart when she hears.
 

Who will tell her? Ishy asks.
 

Varien looks at both of them, then says, I will.
 

Ishy regards him carefully. You're sure?
 

He nods, though he looks anything but certain. Yes, he says. Tarae, can you --

Yes, Tarae says. Now?
 

Yeah. Let's send it fast. We've got a lot to do.

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Oona is already on the loading deck when the three of them come down the stairs with a clamor. Her expression is forlorn, and Ishy is startled to see that the knees of Oona's overalls are stained red. Oona's hands are rust-colored, dirty, and Ishy notices the pile of burgundy rags, squishy and wet, on the deck floor.

Oona has been cleaning the kitchen, Ishy realizes.
 

Oona, she says, I'm so sorry -- I should have helped. I didn't know.

Ishy's heart aches when Oona looks at her, and she sees the redness in the other woman's eyes. There is no shortage of tears on the
Maasi
lately, Ishy thinks. Before long we won't have any left.
 

Varien and Tarae come up behind her.

The loading deck is the last place anybody wishes to be.
 

Nobody has noticed the two containers resting in the shadows.

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Varien seems uncomfortable, the only man aboard the ship, the newest recruit, surrounded by this small knot of mourning women. He stands to the side as Ishy and Tarae and Oona huddle together as if for warmth.