ADEM

Two weeks out of Freedom

“We’re definitely slowing down.” Lucy contradicted herself somewhat by flipping two more pancakes onto her breakfast plate. “I ran the numbers last night. We’ve lost .03 percent of c since this time last year.”

“Did you tell Mom?”

Lucy answered through a mouthful of pancakes. “She says the you-know-what will solve everything.”

Adem rubbed his face. A drop from .9997 of the speed of light to .9994 was huge, even if not an immediate emergency. It was still a long way to nine-tenths c, a speed at which their current loop – Gaul to Imbeleko to Freedom and back to Gaul – would be a ten and a half relative-year slog instead of the ten month jaunt they were currently on schedule for, but the downward trend was concerning.

“How long have we got?” Adem said.

“There’s no way to predict. I’d love to be able say we’ll lose .03 percent every year of use, but that’s not the way it works. At some point the engines are just going to stop working. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

They’d be lucky if that’s how it happened. If the mass-grav system failed first, they’d all die before they knew what was happening. So, maybe that was the lucky way.

“Well, it probably won’t happen today, and I need to get to work.” Adem rose from the table. “Chef says the burners on his stove are operating at different temperatures. He wants me to calibrate them so they match exactly.”

“It’s not wise to piss him off. Fly, be free, or we’ll all be eating nothing but meal bars for the rest of the trip.”

“Are you coming to the gig tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

The job required taking the old stove to pieces and scrubbing every square inch. When Adem got it all back together the chef tested the burners and acknowledged that it was good enough. He promised to make Adem’s favorite breakfast – gravy over biscuits – sometime in the next week. Adem chalked the day off as a win and went back to his suite to wash up.

Vee was in his bed when he came out of the shower.

“We said we weren’t going to do this anymore,” Adem said.

“We said that.” She stretched, and the thin sheet slipped down her body. “Things change.”

“I have a gig to play in about an hour.”

“Ninety minutes. I checked. You’ll even have time for another shower if we share.”

He pulled the Martin off the wall. “I was going to restring this.”

“Don’t. You know that will make it sound flat.” She got to her knees and grabbed him by the towel he’d wrapped around his waist. “Come here.”

Adem sat on the bed next to her. She kissed his neck. “I love how you smell coming out of the shower.”

“I smell like soap. You’re lucky I wasn’t working in waste management today.” He’d had to scrub like a madman to get all the cooking grease out from under his fingernails.

She stroked the short hairs at the base of his skull. It was his “spot,” maybe the most erogenous of his zones, and it bothered him a little that she knew it. He pulled his head away. “You know, you’ll have plenty of money after this trip. You could get off at Gaul, sell your share, and set yourself up nice.”

“Worried that I am going to be a problem for you and the new wifey?” She smiled. “I’ll go if you do.” She put her finger on his mouth before he could say anything. “I’m just kidding. I know you won’t leave the ship. But I’m not leaving, either.”

“This can’t keep happening.” Almost unbidden his hand slid down the length of her back. “It’s wrong.”

“Wrong by what measure?” She reached for the back of his neck again. “She’ll be here soon, and I’ll find someone else to keep me occupied. Shut up and stop worrying.”

Adem barely had time for that second shower, but he made it to Terry’s in time for a quick sound check.

“You want one?” Dooley waved a glass at him. It was glowing gently from whatever cocktail he’d created for the evening.

“Just a beer.”

Dooley put a glass on the bar and slapped a package of beer beside it. “We’re getting short. We’ll be down to piss and vinegar in another couple of weeks.”

Adem made his thousandth mental note to try his hand at brewing beer. It couldn’t be much harder than distilling spirits and might save the crew a few hangovers. “Good thing we’ll be making planetfall soon.”

“Be real interesting to see what happens after that.”

“Depends on whether the Sasakis held up their end,” Adem said. “She could be a poet for all we know.”

“A poet with a face like a bulldog.” Dooley grinned.

“Sounds like a song.”

“Write it fast, and you can sing it at the wedding.” Dooley nodded toward the door. “Your girlfriend is here.”

Vee slipped through the door. She waved to a group of friends and sat down at their table.

“Ex-girlfriend. I called it off.”

Lucy came up behind Adem and stole his beer. “Was that before or after you fucked each other’s brains out in your suite a few minutes ago?”

“Voyeur,” Adem said. “Both. This time it’s going to stick.”

Lucy pouted. “Where is the fun in that, little brother? I was hoping to bond with my new sister about what a brat you can be.”

“I’m sure I’ll give her plenty of fodder for that without committing adultery.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Lucy flipped the tab off the beer pack and filled the glass. “Oh, was this yours?” She walked off and joined a table of friends.

“And she calls me a brat.”

“You are,” Dooley said. “But you don’t have the market cornered. You ready to go on?”

“Let me check the sound and the recording gear one more time. Pour me another beer, will you?”

The acoustics in the little bar left a lot to be desired, but the audience would help. Nearly everyone who was awake and off shift had packed into Terry’s Place for the show and many of those still working would tune in. There weren’t many recreation options on a ship the size of the Hajj, and the crew seized every opportunity for something new.

Someone at Vee’s table chanted, “Spaceman! Spaceman!” and it spread. Adem told the nearsmart to start recording. Dooley handed Adem a glass of beer. They mounted the stools set up on the bar’s tiny stage.

Dooley cleared his throat. “You need no introductions, even though it’s been a few years since we played together.” He forced his accent broader with every syllable. “But for you poor folks who only get to watch this on your wee vid screens, this is the Spaceman.” He pointed his thumb at Adem. “And I’m the Spaceman’s da.”

There wasn’t much room in Terry’s for dancing, but they did their best. At the end of the first song, Dooley set down his drum and picked up a tin pipe.

“Before we play another one,” Dooley said, “I’d like to make a toast.” He waved to the woman he’d corralled to serve as bartender. “Give us a drop of that poison you’re pouring there.”

He held the drink to the light. “This is my first drink in all my fifty-two years of life, and I’m drinking it because we’re about to expand this little band of ours by one.” He waited for the crowd to settle down. “The truth is my boy Adem here is pregnant.”

Adem heard his sister’s cackle above the rest.

“Come up here, Auntie Lucy. It’s sure to be an ugly baby, but I hope you learn to love it.”

Lucy climbed onstage, and Dooley put his arm around her waist. “Adem, your sister and I want to wish you the best of luck. Marriage is a serious business, and you’re getting into it for all kinds of wrong reasons. But if anyone can make it work, it’s Mr. Fixit.” He held up the glass. “To Adem and his missus.” Dooley took a single sip and passed the rest to Lucy. “Now let’s get back to the party.”

Adem switched to hard alcohol midway through the show. They played a twelve song set with two encores then gave the stage over to anyone who wanted to give it a go. Once they’d rested, they went back on stage, and the music continued long into the night.

Waking up was a different story. Adem did not remember leaving the bar. His head was painful and thick, and his tongue seemed to fill his entire mouth. Vee was in the bed next to him, and so was one of the men from her table.

Adem ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. Good thing I made the bed bigger.