Page 28 of Love Galaxy

“Kind of like vitamin D for Humans.” She nods. “How do you get Eoli on Ril II, if not from the sun here?”

“That is what we farm. You did not know this?”

“No, I didn’t. Apparently, that’s another thing Mr. Smith didn’t bother telling me about.” She shifts, resettling on my thighs. Her hand is now removed from my chest, but her other arm is still resting along the length of my shoulders. “How do you farm a vitamin?”

“Eoli is also found in Nufaral.”

“Which is?”

“Aquatic algae.”

“Oh, is that what Killan handed me during our introduction? I was wondering. Wait a second.” She wrinkles her nose in an expression of… dislike? Anger? Confusion? “I think I’m still missing something here. If it’s aquatic, where do you grow the algae? I haven’t seen any lakes or rivers. The planet’s as dry as an old bone.”

“There is no surface water,” I agree. “But Ril II has many underground lakes. A few of these we have converted into nurseries for the Nufaral. For the algae. It is then collected every sixty days by a Freighter crew who transports it back to Ril I.”

“This is explaining so much. I was confused about why you and your brothers live here all by yourselves. It’s because you’re growing a vitamin that helps other people… other, ah— Sorry, what is your species called again?”

“Ril’os.”

“Ril’os. You help other Ril’os stay healthy. Like a pharmaceutical company making vitamin pills.”

“We have a company, yes. We have a charity too, which donates Nufaral to medical centers to help those who cannot afford to purchase our algae themselves.”

She blinks. “Wow, Sorin. I had no idea. Your poor sister. Your poor parents. I can’t begin to imagine what it would feel like to lose a child.”

“They are not poor.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like money.” She shakes her head. “I meant that your parents sound like they were amazing people. I wish I could’ve met them.”

“Akh.” My chest tightens. “They would have been proud, I think, of your interest in their work. My father would have enjoyed showing you the lakes.” Now, he knows almost nothing of the farm, his memory fading the older he grows. “My mother would have commandeered your attention with a long lecture on the administration. She can talk tirelessly about how each aspect of the farm and the business feed back into their charity work, about how everything my father and she had designed and established was interconnected.” It was from her that Killan learned how to give his own lectures to Roan and I about the importance of our legacy and the work that we do here on Ril II.

“Oh, so they’re still alive? I just assumed, sorry, because I haven’t seen them around.”

“They returned to Ril I when my father grew too frail to continue working. They could have stayed. We would have cared for them. But my mother wished to return. She wants to spend her last years near where Roa lived.” And died.

I shift, uneasy. Speaking about my family with Briar feels more intimate than I had expected. Mayhaps because I have not had such a conversation like this before—not with Killan or Roan, and certainly not with any of the other Ril’os we work with long distance. My species does not consider farming an honorable career. We are a society focused on the production of tech, not on the growth of food. All produce is imported into Ril I, while tech is our primary export.

Which is exactly why Roa died. Then, we knew of no other species that needed Eoli to survive, and therefore, it was not available for purchase when my sister needed an additional source. Now, there are several species across multiple galaxies who purchase our Nufaral. Although, our primary customer is still Ril I. That they must import Nufaral from a farm owned and operated by their fellow Ril’os is a point of shame. For them.

My brothers and I are proud of the work we do. Even Roan, who has no experience of life beyond our home planet.

“What about your family?” I ask.

Maybe Briar senses I am trying to change the subject, for she squeezes my shoulder before saying: “My parents aren’t nearly as amazing as yours. Mine are just hippies.”

“Hip—” I struggle with the unfamiliar word.

“Hippies. It’s the word we use to describe certain people who don’t agree with how our society is run—like with our economy and stuff. They hate big corporations and the government, but they don’t really do anything to try changing what they don’t like. At least my parents never have. They don’t even go to protests. Seriously, what hippies don’t love a protest?”

“I do not know.”

The corners of her mouth turn up. “I don’t know either. When I was eight, they both quit their jobs and moved us into a commune. But it wasn’t even out in the bush. It was in suburban Sydney.” She rolls her eyes. “They turned vegan and started growing all their own food. They gave all their money away to charity, and if they wanted something they couldn’t make themselves, they tried trading for it. You know, swapping carrots for shoelaces. I suppose in theory it sounds nice enough. Believing in peace and wanting everyone to be kind to each other and the environment. But as a kid I was the joke of my school. I didn’t have a uniform or a proper lunchbox. I used to carry everything in a brown paper bag.

“When I told them I’d gotten a uni scholarship and was going to study political science, they actually disowned me! As if I was the crazy one. Like we were living in the nineteen hundreds. All I wanted was to prove to them that it was possible to help change the world without forcing your daughter to wear clothes that had more holes than fabric.”

A spaceship for scholars? A box for lunches? I almost ask but decide these are probably not so important as what else she has said. “Your parents do not like to do things as other Humans do them,” I clarify.

“That’s about the gist of it.” At my confused look, she nods. “Yes, I mean. What shits me the most is that I think they might have been right. Politics ended up being more about secret deals and making money than it was about helping our constituents. At least that’s what it was like for the party I was stupid enough to work for. I couldn’t see the truth that was right in front of my nose.

---