Delta V

It was a small, sad house. A sad neighborhood, too. A sad habitat most of all. Twenty-something billion tons of steel and dirt, New Novagrad orbited in a lonesome arc around an unremarkable gas giant named Horos. The colony’s steel frame was shrouded in the regolith of a minor moon, crouched in its hole like a frostbitten animal. The algae mats huddled up against the fusion plants for warmth, while the homesteads made do with what was left.

It wasn’t working very well. By the time the warm wind of the fusion plants had meandered its way through the kilometers of echoing steel and plastic growing facilities and into the cracked streets, it had become a bone-chilling monster. In the neighborhood, its frigid gusts sent bits of paper and plastic shifting in anemic fits and starts across weed-choked asphalt.

A short, stout figure hunched within itself as it trudged across the barren road to reach the sad house. Gloved hands fumbled at a key, sliding it into the scratched brass lock. The door swung open, and the pudgy figure slipped inside.

The house was not much warmer, but it was a lot less windy.The short, pudgy figure thinned as she removed her heavy set of jackets and hung them on a peg. Her hat and boots followed, leaving a much smaller-looking person behind. In better times, her mother had joked that she looked to be at least half coat by volume. The last round of rationing had stripped that humor from her.

From deeper within the house, an arrhythmic tapping could be heard, punctuated at intervals by a small ping. Yuri padded in her sock feet towards the noise. In a windowless, musty room, a man sat at a typewriter. He was scrawny and bespectacled, and he had to squint at the typewriter to see the keys. The room was as dim as he could make it, the switch set as low as possible to preserve power.

The walls were obscured by books- hundreds upon hundreds of fat, expensive books with gilded lettering and creamy, acid-free pages. The desk was piled high with papers, all stacked in a mesh tray labeled OUT. An identical tray, labelled IN, was bare save for a plate of cold, untouched food.

The man did not look up as Yuri padded over to his desk, his reddened eyes scanning across his latest Sponsorship Offer Letter.

“Papa?” Yuri asked. The man glanced at the girl. A smile cracked his lined face. “Sweetie, you’re home! Did school let you out early?”

“It’s seven o’clock, Papa.” Yuri replied. “Mrs. Nesbitt had to bring me home.”

“Mrs. Nesbitt? I thought you had Mrs. Nereva?”

“That was first grade, Papa.” Yuri corrected him with the exaggerated patience of a frustrated child. “I’m in third grade. Mrs. Nesbitt is the third grade teacher.”

The man grimaced. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You know how it is--” he made a vague gesture at his desk. “-- the Party keeps me so busy these days, and I thought I’d just do another paragraph or two...” he trailed off.

“Momma left you breakfast, too.” Yuri said, looking down at the bowl of congealed oatmeal that rested in the IN tray. “She said to ask if you ate.”

The man kneaded at his neck with one hand and gave a sheepish chuckle. “I’m sorry, darling. I guess I forgot. I’m not hungry though, do you want it?”

Yuri eyed the bowl. He should eat. She knew he hadn’t eaten yesterday, either. And Momma had said to make sure Papa ate. So she said: “No, Papa. Momma says you have to eat something every day, even if you say you’re not hungry.”

The man sighed, and pulled the bowl forwards, eyes still skittering over the paper as he spooned tiny mouthfuls of unflavored oatmeal past his lips.

***

Yuri’s mother came home two hours later. She looked much like an older version of her daughter; one who had been wrung and scrubbed and bleached one too many times. Her hair was pulled back in a battered ponytail, her face seamed and gray. She gave Yuri a hug, smelling of industrial cleaning agents and sweat.

“Did he eat?” she asked, her head tilted towards the room where the sound of typing continued.

Yuri nodded. A few lines on her mother’s face went away. “All right. Did you do your homework?”

“No, Mama.” Yuri answered. “I was waiting for you to come help.” Her mother’s face tightened, just for an instant. Then she took a deep breath.

“All right, honey. I still need you to at least try and do it before I come home, okay? If you don’t get a problem I’ll help you, but you need to at least try.”

Yuri frowned. “But I like doing it with you, Momma.” Her mother gave her a strained smile. “I know, honey. But Mommy works late and she can’t always be home in time. So you need to be able to do it yourself when that happens, okay?”

“Yes, Momma.” Yuri agreed, then trudged off to find her workbook.

***

The following afternoon, Yuri once again waved goodbye to Mrs. Nesbitt on the corner of her street as she made her way back home. The house was quiet as usual, save for the sound of typing and the small ping as the head reached the end of its travel. Hanging up her jacket, Yuri went to check on the man inside.

Once again, an untouched bowl of food rested alone in the IN tray. “Papa!” Yuri exclaimed. “You didn’t eat your breakfast again!” He looked up, blinking behind his coke-bottle glasses. “Hello, sweetie. Did school let you out early?”

Yuri sighed in frustration. “ No , Papa! You were supposed to pick me up today!” He seemed surprised but amused at her tone. “Ah, I see. Well, I had better get back to this prospectus, sweetheart. Your mother should be home soon.”

“Papa, you’re supposed to eat.” Yuri insisted. “Not now, dear.” he mumbled, squinting at the typewriter as he tapped at the keys. “I’ll be done in a little bit.”

“Papa, Papa, Papa...” she sang, dancing around the desk. The first sneer of irritation crossed his face. “Yuri, I’m trying to work. What do you want?”

“You didn’t eat your breakfast.” Yuri informed him. “Momma says you have to eat at least one meal every day!”

He sighed. “All right, all right!” he waved his hands above his head as though shooing away insects. “I’ll do it!” So saying, he pulled the bowl closer and spooned himself one small mouthful of the porridge.

Satisfied, Yuri bounced up the stairs to her room, pulling the workbook from her backpack. She had already finished most of her math workbook while bored in class, but the writing parts still made no sense to her. She glared at the remaining questions, the long empty lines beneath them hanging open like vacuum behind an airlock.

Yuri scratched out a few answers, then doodled in the corners of the workbook, considering the half-dozen that were left. She’d do those when Momma came home. Until then, Yuri took her dolls and blocks out of the small, battered toy chest in one corner of her room and began making a new house for them to have tea parties in.

Hours later, her mother arrived at last, and Yuri hurried down to greet her. “Yuri, how are you, baby?” she asked.

“I’m good, momma. I worked on homework like you asked!”

“Did he eat?”

Yuri stopped, then nodded, pleased. ”Yes, Momma.”

“Good girl. Let me just say hello to your father.” Her Mother stepped into the room to kiss him on the cheek. She came out a moment later, looking stern. “Yuri, I thought you said he had eaten his breakfast?”

“I saw him start!” Yuri protested, defensive.

“He ate one spoonful, Yuri. That’s not what I asked you to do.”

“But momma!” Yuri protested. It wasn’t fair! She had just wanted to finish her homework and play with her dolls, it wasn’t her fault he had stopped eating the moment she left.

Her mother was unconvinced. “Yuri, I expect better of you next time, understand?”

Yuri lowered her head, chastened. “Yes, Momma.”

Her mother nodded, then turned to the man, still at his desk and typing away. “Mikhail?” her mother nudged him. “Dear, you forgot to eat again.” He looked up from his work, startled. “Valentina! You came home early! I was just about to pick Yuri up from school.”

Her mother’s expression faded. “Mikhail, it’s almost nine at night.”

He frowned. “It couldn’t possibly--” he glanced at the clock. “Oh.” he chuckled. “I’m very sorry, dear. It must have slipped my mind.”

Yuri’s mother opened her mouth to say something, then glanced at Yuri and paused. “We’ll talk about it later. Would you be able to help Yuri with her homework tonight?”

He looked reluctant. “I would, dear, but there’s a new investor I’ve been speaking to, and the Party could really use their patronage. Maybe tomorrow night once I’ve got the deal secured?”

“Mikhail, you’ve been writing those prospectus reports for weeks. I’m certain they have all the information they need.”

“Not true! I still haven’t written about the revolutionary new system for water conservation in the algae farms, or our new artificial sunlight refraction methods. There’s just so much to do...” he trailed off.

“Mikhail, what if you wrote a piece about the youth of New Novagrad?” Yuri’s mother asked.

He paused, and took a moment to think. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Spend some time with your daughter.” she urged him. “Think of all you’d be able to write later.”

He looked optimistic. “You know, I think I’ll do that.” he stood up, looking around. “Come, Yuri! Your homework awaits!”

“Yes, Papa.” Yuri answered. She gathered up her workbook and papers and brought them all down to the study. He was casting about for a good place for Yuri to sit when she entered. Besides the desk, most of the surfaces in the room were covered in the huge, fancy books. He hmmed to himself, looking around. “All right, I suppose it’s not for very long.” he decided, and brought Yuri over to help him lift the stacks of books off a small chair and accompanying table in the back corner of the room. He pulled his own chair over and sat down with a deep sigh. “So! What are you working on, sweetheart?”

“I have to find a book to read and answer these questions about it.” Yuri pointed to the sheet of questions printed on the grayish recycled paper of the workbook.

He read the questions and thought about it. “Well, what sort of books did the teacher say you should read?”

“Most of the school’s books are gone.” Yuri explained. “She said to try and find something at home, or we could use a newspaper if there weren’t any.”

“Nonsense.” huffed her father, looking at the enormous, creaking stacks of expensive books that filled the room. “No daughter of mine is ever going to need a newspaper to do a book report!” he continued as he puttered about the shelves. “What sort of book would you want to read?”

“Do you have any math books?” Yuri asked. “I like math a lot better than dumb ol’ literature class.”

Her father frowned. “Literature is important, sweetheart.” he warned her. “How else could the words of revolution get out?” Still, he seemed to relent and drew a thin volume out from midway down one of many gilded leather towers. “How does this sound?”

Yuri glanced at it. Mathematical Manuscripts of Karl Marx , it read. “Papa, I can’t even tell what the title’s talking about!”

“You wanted a math book, didn’t you?” he replied. “I think you’re ready for this one. At least try it before you give up.”

Giving another exasperated sigh as only a nine-and-one-quarter year old can do, Yuri heaved open the heavy leather cover and glared at the text inside. The book was talking about areas, she could see-- Adding up millions of tiny areas to find one giant one.

Yuri leaned into the book. She wasn’t a fast reader, but she was patient and determined. Without looking up, Yuri plopped into the seat that had been cleared out for her, and set the book on the table.

A few hours later, Yuri’s mother peeked into the room. “Yuri,are you in here?” she cast about the room, and found Yuri still reading the book, even as the sound of clicking typewriter keys filled the room.

“Momma, look at this!” Yuri exclaimed, looking up. “It’s how you can treat dx as an infinitesimal to find the area under a curve!”

“Yuri, you were supposed to take notes for your book report!” her mother chided. “But it’s too late now, we’re past your bedtime.”

Yuri groaned. “But Momma, I’m still doing homework!”

“Then you can pick it up in the morning. Sleep is more important.” her mother said firmly.

“Can I at least borrow this book?” Yuri requested.

“I don’t know, ask your father.” she suggested.

“Papa?” Yuri asked. He didn’t look up right away, so Yuri had to walk over and tap him on the shoulder. “Papa, Papa, Papa!”

At last he replied: “Yuri, what is it? I’m very busy.”

“Papa, can I borrow your book?” He turned, reading the cover she held out in front of him. He beamed so wide she feared it would split his face. Moments later, she was swept into a tight, trembling embrace. He couldn’t squeeze very hard, but he tried, and after a confused moment Yuri hugged back.

“I knew you would love Marx when the time came.” he murmured to her, tears in his voice. “Of course you can have his book.”

He let her go, and a faraway look clouded his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, I think the investors are really going to love the story I have in mind...the new generation of great Communist thinkers...” he trailed off.

Standing, he dragged his chair back over to the typewriter. He tore away the half-finished sheet within, and with frantic movements slotted a new, fresh piece of paper into the slot. Within moments the room was once more filled with staccato tapping. Yuri sniffled, once, and then gathered up her things to return to her room.

She finished the book that night, cramming a blanket under the door and touching the car battery her mother had brought home to the bare copper wires of the room’s single lamp. The night’s blackout came not long after, and even her father’s typing was forced to cease. At perhaps four o’clock in the morning, Yuri fell asleep at last, dreaming of numbers and lines, curving across space and time into infinity.

***

“Your father isn’t coming to pick you up today, either?” Mrs. Nesbitt wondered.

“My daddy said he was too busy today.” Yuri lied. “Can I walk home? You saw that I know the way.”

The exhausted-looking young woman didn’t need to be asked twice, but she pretended to pause in consideration for a moment, to make the matter seem more important. “Well, alright.” she said, stretching the words out like reluctant taffy.

Yuri rewarded her with a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Mrs. N!”

“Just be careful.” she warned the girl. “I will!” Yuri called over one shoulder, already well on her way.

Yuri was not careful, or in much of a hurry. She meandered back home the way a low-lying river meanders towards the sea, poking at abandoned houses and the piles of trash that littered the car-less streets.

She paused at one such abandoned house, driven less by curiosity than by the apathetic desire not to return yet to confront her homework. She hopped the low, decorative fence and creaked up the stairs. The house’s door hung slack, and she peered into its barren, scuffed rooms for a moment before stepping inside.

The house was long picked-over, and all useful furniture, decorations, and anything else besides trash had been pulled out long ago. All that was left were empty rooms littered with small piles of garbage, and great ragged holes where wiring and pipes had been torn free by scavengers.

Yuri wandered through the desolate rooms and into the kitchen. The house was the same prefabricated model as her own, with the kitchen following the same layout. The refrigerator had been too unwieldy for some long-vanished looter to shift, but they had cut away the compressor, and probably huffed the refrigerants while they were at it. No other appliance had survived, and every cupboard door was open, broken, or askew. The shelves within were bare, save small bits of broken dishware or rat droppings.

The glint of metal inside one of the cabinets caught Yuri’s eye. It was at a strange angle for anything metal to be at, and she leaned closer for a look. On the underside of the counter, five fat gold coins were held down with tape. Any adult would have missed them- the angle was all wrong for anyone above four feet in stature. But Yuri stuck her head inside the cabinet, the edges of her jacket snagging and straining on the splintered boards all around. She grabbed at the coins, pulling them one at a time. Grit and bits of wood came loose with each coin, but she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled all five free.

When she had them all, Yuri wriggled back out of the cabinet and studied her prize. Each was as big as her palm, and made of heavy, cool gold. One side bore the image of some old person she didn’t recognize, while the other showed a starship in flight- its radiators spread like peacock feathers and its fusion engine etched with tiny dazzling flames. “Republic of Haumea” was stamped on one side, and “Five Dinars” was on the other. Her pockets were too small to hold more than two each, so she filled her coat and carried the last one in her hands. In a great hurry, she scrabbled through the door of her home, and burst into the study. “Look what I found, Papa!” she exclaimed to the man inside.

Jerking at the sudden intrusion, the man swiveled to face her. “Sweetie, you can’t just---” he stopped as his eyes fell upon the shining coin in her hands. The indulgent, gentle tone vanished, and his voice rasped like a sword pulled free from its scabbard. “Where did you get that?” he demanded.

The smile dropped from her face. “In the abandoned house on the corner--”

“This...filth is why we left the Federation!” he snapped. “New Novagrad is to be a haven from the evils of capitalism! It is a tool of the bourgeoisie! Give me that!” Standing, he snatched the coin from her shocked fingers and strode past her, bumping her aside without a glance. Yuri followed as he strode out into the street, and threw the coin as hard as he could. It arced across the street and landed with a clatter a few feet from the opposite side of the street.

For a moment the pair watched, both breathing hard. Yuri’s eyes were wide, and she shrank back from the man as he turned towards her. The remaining coins felt as though they were getting heavier in her pockets, and she shrank from him as he staggered back into the house.

Moments later, the rage deserted him, and he sank to the floor, gasping. There he lay, spread-eagled in the hallway, chest heaving, as Yuri stood watching, her eyes still wide. It felt like a long time that he lay there, but before long his breathing slowed, and he rolled over to climb back to his feet.

He gave her a gentle smile and patted her head. “Sorry, sweetie. I know you didn’t know any better. I think it’s best you don’t go in the abandoned houses anymore, though.” he turned and shuffled back to the study, where the sound of typing resumed soon after.

With a careful glance over her shoulder, Yuri transferred the remaining four coins from the pockets of her coat into between the pages of her school workbook, which she carried up to her room to start on her homework. As she had expected, he did not look up when Yuri passed him by, the workbook clutched tight.

Once in her room, Yuri first hid the coins under her bed, and then driven by fear and paranoia at his actions, switched to folding them inside her least favorite winter jacket, then shoved it into an empty toy chest, stacking old books on top. There.

Yuri’s mother arrived home earlier than usual that evening- which was to say at about eight o’clock. Yuri heard her enter, and listened to the creak as she came up the stairs. “Did he eat, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Momma, I need to show you something.” Yuri said, her voice quiet.

“In a minute, sweetheart.” she replied. “Did your father eat?”

“No, Momma, you need to see this.”

The statement gave her mother pause. “All right, then. What’s the matter?”

Yuri opened the toy chest and drew out the coins she’d found. Her mother leaned forward and inspected them.

“Yuri,” she whispered, “Where on Earth did you find these?”

“They were under the counter in the abandoned house next door.” Yuri explained.

“Were there any more?” her mother asked.

“Papa took one.” Yuri said, her voice still hushed. “He was angry.”

Her mother’s mouth pinched shut, faded eyebrows drawing together. “I understand sweetie. Did it frighten you?”

Yuri nodded, tears pricking her eyes. Her mother’s dry, chapped hands drew her close into a hug that smelled of disinfectant and cheap floral scent, the smell of home and safety. “It’s all right, Yuri.” her mother whispered. “It’s going to be all right.”

Yuri cried, just a little, into her mother’s blouse. But she stopped soon, because she was a big girl now and wasn’t supposed to cry anymore. Which was why she was surprised to see thin, shimmering tracks run down her mother’s face.

“Momma, are you okay?” Her mother looked down. “Of course, sweetheart. I think I’ll hold onto these for a little while, all right?”

***

Yuri had almost forgotten the entire event two years later, as she brought her fifth-grade workbook home from Mr. Renard’s class. She looked around the house and paused for a moment-- something had changed. Nothing in the house looked any different in the last two years, aside from the soot stains on the walls where they had begun to supplement the lighting with candles, as the rolling blackouts grew more frequent in occurrence and longer in duration. But nonetheless, Yuri was looking around as though the entire place was unfamiliar. She set her backpack down with a clunk in the kitchen, and it was the sound that roused her awareness.

The constant chatter of the typewriter had ceased. He was slumped facedown against the electric typewriter, glasses bent and pushed askew. His ragged mop of thin, graying hair splayed across his features, fluttering as he breathed. A thin slick of drool pooled around his mouth. “Dad?” Yuri asked. Then, louder, “DAD!” The man remained unmoving. Yuri poked his shoulder, and then escalated to grabbing him and shaking as hard as she could manage. He showed no sign of even noticing. His face was flushed, his heart hammering away so hard she could feel it through his shirt.

The telephone switchboard had been cut back to prevent the constant siphoning of power everyone had been doing, so Yuri ran.

The communal laundromat was not a great distance, but running it at breakneck speed left Yuri quite out of breath when she arrived. The squat building stood by itself on a street corner, painted a gunmetal-gray with doors the color of dried-up toothpaste. A mural had been started long ago on one wall, but the painter had run out of paint halfway through, leaving behind a faded blotch of ochre streaks and blue haze.

Yuri ran up to the outside of the building and tried the door. It squeaked against her grip, and rattled in its frame, but did not budge. Yuri yanked on it again, but the door was unimpressed by her efforts.

Then, as she stood back panting, the door swung open and a tall, gray-haired woman looked out. She looked around, and seeing no one at eye level, came close to slamming the door closed on Yuri’s head as the girl ran inside.

“Hey!” she squawked, turning around to give chase. Yuri dashed past churning, humming banks of machines, her eyes running down the groups of bleached-looking men and women as she searched for her mother. Three-quarters of the way down the building, one particular pale face stood out, and Yuri skidded to a halt.

“Yuri?” Her mother asked, worry creasing her features. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Dad!” Yuri exclaimed. “He’s asleep on the typewriter and he won’t wake up!” Her mother’s face turned the color of the sheets she was washing.

“Yefrenova, what the hell d’you think you’re doing?” the tall, gray-haired woman was back, and angry now. “Tell this kid to get out of here, you’ve got a lot of work to do! The Party banquet still needs its tablecloths pressed, and the napkins need bleaching!”

“Ma’am, my husband is very sick.” she answered, not looking up. “I can return as soon as possible, but my daughter tells me he needs medical attention.”

“Oh, and you’re both fucking doctors now, are you?” the tall woman retorted. “Stay and do the tablecloths, or go and don’t bother coming back.”

Yuri’s mother took a deep breath, her shoulders lowering as another immaterial burden was added to them. “Then I must go.” she said quietly.

In silence, she put down the basket of pale gray linen and stood to gather her things from a locker near the door. Yuri, her eyes wide, followed.

At home, he still lay sprawled across the typewriter. Yuri helped her mother pick him up and carry him into bed, where she covered him in the blanket and put a cool cloth on his forehead. “He should sleep for a few hours, at least.” Yuri’s mother decided. Then to Yuri’s surprise, she continued: “Put on your coat. We have a couple errands to run.”

Without saying a word, Yuri’s mother then brought Yuri back to her school, which had been closed for hours. A few secretaries were still on duty, and after a quiet word with one, Yuri’s mother went into a small booth to make a telephone call.

When she emerged, they walked home. “What did you do that for, Mom?” Yuri asked, confused.

“I was calling my sister.” Her mother explained. “Your aunt.” Yuri’s brow wrinkled. “I have an aunt?” Her mother took a deep breath. “I’m sending you to stay with her for a little while. When your father recovers, we’ll come meet you.”

“But Mom, I want to stay with you!” Yuri protested. Her mother took another one of those long, tired breaths. “I know, sweetheart. It’s what I would have wanted too.”

She didn’t explain further, and Yuri followed her back upstairs to the bedroom’s closet, where her mother pried up a floorboard and pulled out a battered leather purse. It was heavy, Yuri could tell, and gave a meaty clinking sound as her mother hefted it onto the floor. As her mother reached back into the hole in the closet to pull out a sheaf of official-looking papers, Yuri opened the bag and gasped. The five coins she had found so long ago rested atop a small pile of others, most of them much smaller copper coins. Very few were the same, and most were in languages Yuri didn’t recognize.

Her mother stuffed the papers into the purse, and hefted it onto her shoulder. Heading downstairs, she picked up a fat stack of books from the piles in her father’s room-- the fanciest and most elaborate of them all. “Pack up your favorite dolls, Yuri. We have to go.”

***

It happened like a dream. A long walk to the spaceport. Her mother slipped the satchel of coins to a bored-looking soldier. A single slip of thick paper, printed with her name and a long string of numbers. A hug goodbye. Tears. Yuri watched as a bystander while her life was uprooted from everything she had ever known, as her mother argued with a beefy blond man in a ratty vacsuit and oil-stained hands. The rest of the purse changed hands, and Yuri was brought aboard the musty, dirt-smelling shuttle and crammed behind a fat crate full of fancy-looking paintings and musty books, a filigree tea set, and half a dozen other family heirlooms.

The last look she got at her mother was an awkward, cramped hug as they both leaned over the cargo.”Mom, why can’t you come?” Yuri asked again.

“I only had enough for one, sweetheart. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

“I’ll wait for you.” Yuri promised back.

“No,” her mother told her. “Don’t wait for me to live your life, Yuri. I’ll catch up.”