We were quiet for awhile. The sun was setting and before I knew it, the sky darkened and I could see the planets and stars. It was the same, but different, familiar but completely new. This was not my galaxy. And while I had a decent look at a bit of sky from my first room in the Utopia complex, this was the first time I truly got to see it all.
Except for when I was bobbing around out there after the jump, of course. There's no way I'll ever remember that.
A satellite crossed overhead, small but perfectly clear. It flashed its way across the deep sky. I watched it until it was over the horizon. Another ship came into view, it's thrusters glowing purpley blue in the night. I craned my head to follow its path up and over and behind us, and saw the reflection of the plasma thrusters mirror off the thick glass of one of the upper walkways of the compound. I turned back to the stars and planets. I looked for familiar clusters automatically. Of course I didn't find them. Instead, I found others. I looked at their structures, theorized about their potentialities, idly calculated the next move, should we have to.
I couldn't help it, you see. I am a product of my life. I'd spent sixteen years absorbing it all. My first memory is of Mother, Dad, Ralph, and Stephan over the projection map in the command room. I must have been laying down on the benches in front of the observation ports, because in my memory they are sideways. I'd consider a zero-g scenario, but they weren't floating. A nap, maybe. I must have been two, at the oldest, for Mother's hair was still long. I remember their faces, lit by the eerie green glow of the projection table, all frowning. Not angry, though, just heated. They were discussing the next move, trying to figure out which system was most likely to have life forms.
Like I said, I'd been doing it since birth. I'd been part of it, in it, around it, even if I couldn't participate. Later I did. Later it became a teaching exercise. They didn't just rely on my HuTA. There were plenty of lessons taught by Mother, Dad, and the rest of the crew. They loved to bring up the projection map and test me.
"Which one of these solar systems is most likely to have life?"
I'd look. I'd pretend to think, at first, but later really use my reasoning skills. There are many things needed for a planet to hold life. The first would, of course, depend on the star in the system. Too big, and nothing could live. Too small, and anything that was alive would long be frozen. Just right, and it was a start. But not the be all and end all. We saw many prime candidate stars reign over lifeless rocks. Dad always takes that personally.
"A waste of a perfectly good star."
There are billions upon billions of more, Dad. They can spare some.
What makes life spring up some places and not others? I suppose that's the huge question, isn't it? The one Mother wants to answer. Sometimes I think Dad's just along for the party. A good star is a start. Then there's the planets in the system. Too many, and the gravities seem to prevent anything real from forming. Or perhaps we just got there a few billion years too early. We never found any real life, anything more than the odd plant or slightly advanced algae, on a system with more than twelve orbiting planets.
To be fair, though, we've only been to a handful. That statement was just bad science on my part. Mother wouldn't be happy.
All of these things float through my head whenever I look out, really look out, into the sky. I can't help them. They're automatic. And as it turns out, it doesn't matter which galaxy I'm in. I'm going to do the same. My eyes are going to flick to clusters, picture the stars, guess at the planet count. I'll dismiss that cluster all together, because there are too many tiny stars and it's too new to have anything of value. That one over there has potential, even though it's got the signs of an impending nova since the star itself looks a little orange. That band there, now that has some real possibilities.
Yes, it was all different, but the same.
"Where's Earth?" My voice echoed loudly in the large, empty dome.
Lynette was lost in her own thoughts and took a second to answer. "Hm?"
"Earth. Which one is Earth?"
"Oh. Um...hang on." She pulled her holo from the clip on her waist and turned it on. The light from the little holo filled the dark deck and glowed on her face. "Let me just input our coordinates and we'll see."
"You have to look it up?"
She shot me a quick look. "We're not all astronomers, Jake."
"But you come from there."
"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean I can point it out in the middle of all that," she said, waving a hand toward the sky. "Can you point out your Laksa?"
"Laak'sa," I corrected. "And no. I can't." She quirked her eyebrow and gave me a smug look. She thought she made a point. "It's in a different galaxy, remember?"
Lynette looked back on her holo. "Oh." Oh is right. I bit back my own smug smile. She tapped on the screen, then looked up, then back, then up again and finally said, "Oh hell. I don't know."
I held my hand out and she put the holo into it. I glanced at the astro-chart, then looked up. "There." Clear as day right over the horizon. I should have noticed it on my own with it's odd blue tint. If I had been around Ralph, I would have been embarrassed that I needed the astro-chart. Since Lynette still couldn't find it even using the chart, I had no shame. I even rubbed it in a bit. "Not bad for someone new to the galaxy, hm?"
"So I'm not an astronomer. Big deal. Name me ten of the top actors on Earth. No? How about the two top presidents? Hot bands? Fashion trends?"
"Okay, okay. I get your point."
"And I'd like to point out that if you'd been paying better attention to me this week, you would be able to name those things."
I could have defended myself. I could have easily pointed out a list of excuses a mile long, not the least of which being that I was from a different galaxy entirely and she was expecting me to absorb a lifetime of pop culture in one little week. I didn't defend myself. "I'm trying. President Joshua Norton, representative of the United States, and President Nari Gundani, from...uh...Germany?"
"Oh hell no! That's one you can't mess up on. India. Grundani, India. Jeez, you could start a war otherwise!"
"I am trying," I said quietly. "It's just...so much."
"I know. I'm sorry. I just...I can't afford to fail at this job."
"Why?"
She gave a snort. "It won't make any sense to you." When I shrugged, she returned the gesture. "Okay. If you can't keep up, don't say I didn't warn you."
Lynette leaned back in her seat and stared at the horizon. "I've been with StarTech since I was seven years old. Sold, by my folks, to pay a huge and stupid debt. Me and Marlon both."
Slavery. I had thought it was illegal on Earth. That's what my HuTA taught me.
"We were enrolled into StarTech's main academy in the states and then shipped up here as soon as we turned twelve, as soon as it was legal. I've got one more year, if I do this right. I've worked my way to level E, one above Marlon. He won't get beyond D, by the way."
That surprised me. He's smart, once you get past the attitude. "Why?"
"The chip on his shoulder. He considers us slaves."
"Aren't you?"
She frowned. "No. Not really. No more than any other kid, when you think about it."
"But you were sent up here. You said yourself it was taking care of a debt."
"Right. I told you it's complicated. See, my folks, they owed StarTech for a loan."
"A loan?"
"Yes. StarTech's not just a bunch of space nerds, you know. They're the world's biggest financial institute. They run everything. You need money, you go to them."
"And your parents needed money."
"Yes. For stupid reasons. And when they couldn't pay up, StarTech gave them the standard out. They could indenture themselves, and work until the debt was paid off, or they could have members of their family stand in and be indentured on their behalf."