the young man. Briefly, his eyebrows drew together in suspicion, then he
broke into a smile.
“Dama,” he said quietly, freeing his hand from
Polara to take the tubers. “Dama engala.”
Aria smiled wonderingly. “You speak a different
language?” she asked.
The boy blushed. “Usually only at home.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said. Ethan would be
excited to know another old Earth language had survived.
“It means ‘thank you,’” he said.
“You’re welcome.” Ever since Polara and Rigel had
come into the world, Aria saw them in everyone’s children. She imagined this
boy’s mother for a moment. She was probably at work in the mines as well,
wondering what was keeping him from his shift and worrying what might have
happened. “Will you go to work now?”
The boy looked at his watch and his eyes welled
up with tears again. He shook his head. “I’ll never make it. It’s a ten minute
walk.” He made a disgusted grunt in his throat. “It’s my third time being late.
They’ll dock me a week’s pay this time.”
Aria called to Polara. “Can you run, little one?”
Polara nodded and Aria called to both her and the young miner. “Come on, then!”
She must have earned his trust, because he
followed her without question. Aria looked down the street as they emerged from
the alley and ran for a cab platform. She pulled the door open and Polara,
sensing her mother’s urgency, threw herself in the circular back seat and
scooted around to the far side. Aria slung the groceries in on the floor and
pulled Rigel’s backpack off, clutching him on her lap as she slid in, too.
She barked, “Take us to the mine!”
The boy slipped in and pulled the door closed
just as the cab sped off toward the Industrial District.
Aria watched the buildings speed by and glanced
at the boy. A hopeful light had crept into his eyes and he was obviously
thrilled by the cab ride. He caught her eye.
“Why are you helping me?”
Aria hugged Rigel a little. “Because I hope
somebody will help my boy someday, when he needs it,” she said. “And because I
think you were trying to do some good yourself by standing in that line. Nobody
likes rangkor enough to eat that many by himself.” She gestured at his armload
of tubers.
He smiled, but it was a sad smile. “They’re for
my family. We won’t get any more scrip for three days, and there won’t be
anything left we can buy after work.” He shook his head quickly, agitated. “I
can’t hear my little sisters cry for food one more night.”
His words hit Aria in the stomach. A long-ago
feeling twisted her memory. She wished Ethan was here. The mine came into sight
through the window of the hovercab.
“Can I ask your name?” the boy said. “Maybe I can
pay you back for these someday.” He looked hesitantly at her. “And the cab
ride,” he added hastily as the cab stopped.
“It’s Aria Bryant. How about yours?”
The boy spoke quickly. “I’m Daniel Rigo.” He
jumped out of the cab, running with the last of the stragglers to the gates of
the mine.
“Where to now?” the hovercab driver asked.
“Just wait here a second,” Aria replied.
She watched as Daniel checked in seconds before
the whistle blew, ending the break. He turned and tossed her a wave, smiling
broadly. She saw his mouth make the words dama engala : thank you.
***
Daniel threw a wave at the kind woman, Aria, in
the hovercab, and walked past the foreman into the mine just as the whistle
blew. He stopped to stash the rangkors in his mother’s lunchbox in her cubby at
the mine’s mouth, then pulled up his mask as he walked to the check boards.
They were wide pieces of smooth green Minean wood, with rows of small nails
covering them. On each nail hung a small metal triangle stamped with the words “Saras
Co. Mining” and each miner’s identification number. The miners called them pit
checks because the underground parts of the mine were called the pit and the
little tags gave an easy
broke into a smile.
“Dama,” he said quietly, freeing his hand from
Polara to take the tubers. “Dama engala.”
Aria smiled wonderingly. “You speak a different
language?” she asked.
The boy blushed. “Usually only at home.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said. Ethan would be
excited to know another old Earth language had survived.
“It means ‘thank you,’” he said.
“You’re welcome.” Ever since Polara and Rigel had
come into the world, Aria saw them in everyone’s children. She imagined this
boy’s mother for a moment. She was probably at work in the mines as well,
wondering what was keeping him from his shift and worrying what might have
happened. “Will you go to work now?”
The boy looked at his watch and his eyes welled
up with tears again. He shook his head. “I’ll never make it. It’s a ten minute
walk.” He made a disgusted grunt in his throat. “It’s my third time being late.
They’ll dock me a week’s pay this time.”
Aria called to Polara. “Can you run, little one?”
Polara nodded and Aria called to both her and the young miner. “Come on, then!”
She must have earned his trust, because he
followed her without question. Aria looked down the street as they emerged from
the alley and ran for a cab platform. She pulled the door open and Polara,
sensing her mother’s urgency, threw herself in the circular back seat and
scooted around to the far side. Aria slung the groceries in on the floor and
pulled Rigel’s backpack off, clutching him on her lap as she slid in, too.
She barked, “Take us to the mine!”
The boy slipped in and pulled the door closed
just as the cab sped off toward the Industrial District.
Aria watched the buildings speed by and glanced
at the boy. A hopeful light had crept into his eyes and he was obviously
thrilled by the cab ride. He caught her eye.
“Why are you helping me?”
Aria hugged Rigel a little. “Because I hope
somebody will help my boy someday, when he needs it,” she said. “And because I
think you were trying to do some good yourself by standing in that line. Nobody
likes rangkor enough to eat that many by himself.” She gestured at his armload
of tubers.
He smiled, but it was a sad smile. “They’re for
my family. We won’t get any more scrip for three days, and there won’t be
anything left we can buy after work.” He shook his head quickly, agitated. “I
can’t hear my little sisters cry for food one more night.”
His words hit Aria in the stomach. A long-ago
feeling twisted her memory. She wished Ethan was here. The mine came into sight
through the window of the hovercab.
“Can I ask your name?” the boy said. “Maybe I can
pay you back for these someday.” He looked hesitantly at her. “And the cab
ride,” he added hastily as the cab stopped.
“It’s Aria Bryant. How about yours?”
The boy spoke quickly. “I’m Daniel Rigo.” He
jumped out of the cab, running with the last of the stragglers to the gates of
the mine.
“Where to now?” the hovercab driver asked.
“Just wait here a second,” Aria replied.
She watched as Daniel checked in seconds before
the whistle blew, ending the break. He turned and tossed her a wave, smiling
broadly. She saw his mouth make the words dama engala : thank you.
***
Daniel threw a wave at the kind woman, Aria, in
the hovercab, and walked past the foreman into the mine just as the whistle
blew. He stopped to stash the rangkors in his mother’s lunchbox in her cubby at
the mine’s mouth, then pulled up his mask as he walked to the check boards.
They were wide pieces of smooth green Minean wood, with rows of small nails
covering them. On each nail hung a small metal triangle stamped with the words “Saras
Co. Mining” and each miner’s identification number. The miners called them pit
checks because the underground parts of the mine were called the pit and the
little tags gave an easy
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