ADEM

Eight days from Gaul

Adem unlinked his reader from the nearsmart. The Hajj’s second trip through a wormhole had resulted in zero damage and revealed the location of the plumbing leak he’d been tracking for so long. It would take a while for his quarters to dry completely, but that pipe would never drip again.

He rubbed his face, and his fingers rasped over stubble. It had been a far longer day than he had planned, and he had a decision to make. Hisako came through the door behind him.

“You’re still working,” she said.

“Wanted to make sure everything was right before I turned in. I’m done now.” Adem slid his reader into the pocket of his utilisuit.

“I don’t get what you’re trying to prove. Everyone else on your shift is asleep or drunk.”

“Ordinarily I might be, too. But…” He shrugged. “Things have changed.” You changed it, he might have added. Adem turned his back on her and made a show of shutting down the console. “You’re not sleeping, so I guess you picked the drinking option.”

“It seems to be the thing to do here. Your father is the only one I know aboard who doesn’t.”

“He says it’s haram.” He laughed. “Dooley’s parents changed his name from Brian O’Dool to Abdul O’Dool and enrolled him in a madrasa as soon as they realized who they’d married him off to. He knows more about Islam than my mother.”

“He doesn’t seem very devout.”

“He’s not. He doesn’t drink because most of his extended family and friends were drunks.”

She stretched her hand out to him. “Come back to your suite with me. I want to show you something.”

Adem looked at her askance. “What are you doing, Hisako?”

“Talking,” she said. “Come on.”

Adem followed her to the suite and waited as she fumbled the door open. She gestured toward the bar. “Pour us some of that fancy vodka. Beats the hell out of the shit you make.”

He looked at the label. “This is from Uncle Rakin’s stock.”

“Wedding present,” she said. “It’s good. Try it.”

Adem poured two glasses.

Hisako sat down and swung her legs up onto the bed. “Play me something.”

“I haven’t played in a while.”

“I haven’t, either. We’ll swap some songs.” She leaned over to pull the Martin off the wall. “I think it misses you.”

The old guitar had a habit of going out of tune when the nearsmart dropped the temperature for the night cycle. Adem tuned it by ear and tested his work with a couple of chord progressions.

“What do you want out of life?” Her voice was louder than normal, and the question sounded almost like an accusation.

Adem wasn’t sure how to answer. “Family, friends, work, a purpose,” he patted the guitar, “music, I guess.”

“You know people collect your videos, right? Does that matter to you?”

He used his sleeve to wipe dust off the Martin’s body. “I like that they like my work.”

“Do you want more of that… fans and applause?” She lay back on the bed and balanced the glass on her stomach. “Living on this ship isn’t the way to make that happen.”

The ghost of a song trembled in the air as he played with the strings.

“So, there’s really nothing you want that you don’t have,” she said.

“I want Mom and Dad to have their asteroid. I want Lucy to be ship’s captain. I want the Hajj to keep going.” He was getting tired of the question. “I don’t know… Enough peace and goodwill to go around?”

“What do you want for me?”

Adem noodled on the strings for a moment or two before replying. “I guess I want what I’ve always wanted for you. I want you to be happy here and feel like it’s your home.”

“What does that even mean, Adem? I eat. I drink. I shit. I have friends and a roof over my head. I’m potentially rich. What more is there?”

Adem lifted his hands in surrender. “More. I don’t know. Love. The sky, maybe. People say they miss it. Fresh air.”

“The sky we evolved under was blue not greenish brown, and the fresh air wasn’t made by crushing rocks.” She listened to Adem play for a minute. “Do you know anyone who’s happy?”

“No one’s happy all the time, but I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

“Just live and be content with being happy sometimes. That’s life?”

“It beats worrying about it. You’ve looked pretty happy working on the worm-drive. Maybe it’s about being useful to someone.”

“That wasn’t happiness. That was–” She paused. “That was discovery.”

“What’s the difference?” He set the guitar aside, leaning it carefully against the wall. “There’s joy in learning something new or figuring something out.”

“What if it’s not enough?”

“Then that’s what people are for. We make each other happy.”

“Let’s try,” she moved over. “Get into this bed with me. Make me happy. Take tomorrow off. Take the whole week off. We’ll spend it here playing music and having sex.”

“Let me get you some water.”

“I don’t want water.” She pulled the covers up to her chin. “Hold on.” She struggled under the comforter for nearly a minute before she poked an arm out and dropped her coveralls on the floor. It was soon joined by her bra and t-shirt.

Adem picked up the Martin again. “You should sleep. Let me play you something.”

It was a short piece, a simple G-chord progression, with lyrics that were either about losing a loved one or leaving home, Adem had never been sure.

Hisako listened with her eyes closed. “Who wrote that?”

“I found it with the guitar. I imagine the original owner wrote it.”

She shivered. “I can’t get warm tonight. Take your clothes off and get in here.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No,” she said. “But I know I don’t want to be alone tonight. Will you stay?”