Refugee AU 2018

[imthepilot]

The galley wasn’t exactly a good place to be. It was hot as hell and stank of rotting food, the last of that they had left. It was narrow and dangerous – no more than a propane hotplate balanced on a plank of wood that could fall at any moment.

But it was a slightly quieter corner than the rest of the packed boat. And even the rotting food smell wasn’t as bad as the rotting flesh smell everywhere else.

Please, please, let the girls be safe.

Bodhi regretted that he’d never really had faith. If he’d believed in Allah or God or any deity at all, he’d at least have someone to mutter those prayers too. Rather than just losing them to the open air.

Nothing more than swearing. Just a release valve.

And even if his arms were pock-marked by oil burns and splashes, it was better than the other options.

Two more had died overnight, their bodies tossed into the sea. And at least one more wouldn’t make it to see another sunset. And a storm was coming.

“Hurry up with that food! You have other duties.” The captain shouted and Bodhi winced.

He knew the bastard wasn’t hungry, at least not for the pathetic meal of beans and rice Bodhi had managed to scratch together.

Bodhi kept reminding himself that it could be worse. There were kids on board, girls not much younger than Pema. While the captain’s hands were on Bodhi, they weren’t on the poor girls.

Please, please, let this not have happened to his sisters.

He had paid more for their passage, smuggled them out on what seemed to be a bigger, sturdier boat. It meant he had had to stay behind, pay the lesser bribe for a smaller boat. One that looked like it was barely floating. But what did that matter.

As long as the girls were safe.

Or so he told himself. Every night, squeezed into a corner, held in place by the crush of desperate humanity.

His own life didn’t matter, as long as the girls were save. And no-one was safe at home any more.

They were the lucky ones, if you could call it that. When the bombs had rained down from the sky, their house had been spared. Even if they had had to climb over the rubble of their neighbours to get out when the thunder stopped. Bodhi had done his best to shield his sisters’ eyes from the crumpled remains that may well have been the family next door.

Bodhi was educated, literate, thanks to his maternal grandmother who had raised them after his mother and brother had joined the insurgents. And that gave him and his sisters prospects the rest of the family didn’t have.

But bullets didn’t discriminate. And suicide bombers did.

The government depot when Bodhi worked had been bombed twice before Bodhi had managed to save the money to bribe people smugglers to get his sisters away to Europe.

The third time his truck was flipped by the blast, leaving him with burns to his back as he tried to crawl free.

It was time to get out of here. Nothing was left of the city of his birth. Nothing but blood and madness.

When he heard the shouts from on deck, he armed himself with the galley’s only sharp knife. He’d heard the crew joke about selling them to slavers, to pirates, to human traffickers. Even make bets about who would be worth the most.

And Bodhi wasn’t going down that way. If needed, he’d go down fighting.

Please, please, let my sisters have had a clean death. Anything but this.

But then a name was called across the boat. An aid agency he’d heard of in the news. It echoed across the deck like a wave of relief and Bodhi put down the knife.

Thank you. Whoever is listening, thank you. Just let them have my sisters.

Comments

[galen_erso]

"We need both," Galen says. "Food for the stomach a d the brain. And doctors. They'll see you after the most desperate cases."

He's not queue-jumping scarce and vital resources. But...

"I can show you where after you've talked to Päivi again."

[imthepilot]

"I'm fine." Bodhi shrugs it off, pulling his tee-shirt down over the scars. "These aren't new." But at least one on his shoulder is infected. But that's the least of his worries. "But thanks."

[galen_erso]

"After the others have been treated," Galen argues. "It doesn't have to hurt all the time."

They turn a corner, and Galen opens a tiny door that brings them into a rather large space where people, helpers and refugees alike, are being served from several large pots of stew, and a large basket of bread.

"The stuff from the red pit is always nice and spicy," Galen explains. "I can recommend that."

[imthepilot]

"It's just how I know I'm alive." Bodhi mutters softly, mostly to himself.

"Smells- amazing!" He has to admit, saliva filling his mouth. "But I better stick to bread for now." He accepts a bowl, scooping just enough sauce from the red pit for flavour.

He nods to one of the benches. "You gunna eat?"

[galen_erso]

"Yes, might as well as long as my end of things is quiet," Galen says, getting a bowl of the curry/stew from the red pot. "And something to drink."

At the end of the serving counter is a rather large contraption tthat looks like a cross between a water cooler and a steampunk beer keg. Galen refills his personalized water bottle from it and gestures for Bodhi to do the same, with barely concealed dorky pride.

[imthepilot]

"Does it have a name?" Bodhi asks, filling up his bottle.

[galen_erso]

"It's a water refinement device," Galen says, a bit dubious. "It works a bit like a cat fountain and also like a water filter, and then we aerate the water to add oxygen. Oh, and ions. A bit of everything, really."

[imthepilot]

"It needs a name." Bodhi sits down, eating the bread in tiny bites. "Something like that. Anything that looks that much like it's going to stand up and talk any second needs a name. That way you'll know what to call it when it does."

He shrugs. "I read a lot of science fiction growing up."

[galen_erso]

"I can tell," Galen says, sitting down opposite of Bodhi. "And then I'd suggest calling it the water droid. Even if that is still as bland as the stew in the yellow pot."

[imthepilot]

Bodhi shakes his head, still eating his bread in tiny bites. "Too bland. How many versions of the design did you go through to make that?"

[galen_erso]

"It had seven previous versions, if you count the thing I made for my daughter's goats ages ago," Galen says.

[imthepilot]

"WDV7." Bodhi answers with a quirk of a smile. "Visev for short."

"Unless... unless you'd rather name it something for your daughter?" He leaves it open for Galen to talk about her if he wants to.

[galen_erso]

"Jyn," Galen says. "My Stardust. She blames me for her mother's death, I think, and hasn't talked to me in years. She's lots more radical than I am."

Pause, while he dips his bread into the curry and chews.

"Visev sounds about right."

[imthepilot]

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bodhi asks softly. They've all lost people but it's not always something people can talk about.

[galen_erso]

"The police had a warrant," Galen says softly, "but their boss was Krennic, who had it in for me, and Lyra went for him, and his people held her down and when they let go, she never got up again. Jyn was six and had to see it all."

Pause.

"It was my fault, for being a whistleblower. I should have thought of my family. But for all I hear, Jyn turned out way more radical than either Lyra or me."

[imthepilot]

Bodhi moves to touch Galen's hand but hesitates, drawing back almost as soon as he catches himself doing it. "I'm sorry." There are no words of comfort. Bodhi knows that all to well.

[galen_erso]

"We are all here for a reason," Galen says. His voice sounds unsteady.

"I may be a nerd and a do-gooder, but I have things to make up for. Ghosts follow everybody on this ship."

[imthepilot]

Bodhi looks around the room, almost seeing the ghosts that haunt every soul. Rescuers and rescued alike. "We all have things to make up for. But I hope we all have reasons to keep fighting too. My reasons are out there somewhere. On another ship."

[galen_erso]

"And we'll find them," Galen says, "and when we do, I will have tangible proof that my work out here is worth something, and not just the bizarre hobby of the guy who builds and cleans the wind turbines."

Pause.

"Which probably answers your earlier doubts. The guilt of the privileged, is why. But on the other hand, two cracked beams that list to the side can hold up each other."

[imthepilot]

"Blessed are the cracked, for they shall let in the light." Bodhi quotes, his English assent becoming crisp and clipped.

He shrugs. "British grandmother. My family's own flavour of privileged guilt."

[galen_erso]

"I can hear her in your speech," Galen says, smiling.

[imthepilot]

"A nasty habit I use to make myself sound less like yet another filthy refugee." He mutters bitterly, aware of the attitude some people have towards those forced to flee their homelands.

[galen_erso]

"That's not why..." Galen says, suspecting his own motivation.

His own accent is anything but British.

[imthepilot]

"I know." Bodhi reassures. "But I find myself speaking like her when I want people to take me seriously. Because it works. People are more likely to listen to what they perceive as an educated voice. Which in my experience is western accent." He cocks his head, those deep eyes studying Galen's. "Like yours."

[galen_erso]

Galen closes his eyes, an intense light brown that almost seems red.

"Not all that Western," he says. "For many Brits, I'm one of those pesky Europeans because of whom they voted for Brexit. But I see your point."