Excerpt from Friendly Presence, a novella.
Ib grew up amongst a space ship culture of autonomy and self-reliance. In the last couple years, he noticed increased anxiety around the shared ethos, inspired by Company encroachment. Regular ports of call were taken over by Company agents, and traders the crew had known and trusted for many years disappeared. Company credits were becoming the only acceptable currency. The freighter encountered cruisers frequently along their journeys, stamped with the Company logo. The light blue lettering in an arch was meant to display the corporation’s omniscience over a planet. To Ib, the downward curve looked like a menacing frown.
Arriving at Silk Road, a space station well regarded for its rare commodities and honest trading across the galaxy, Milty noticed a Company cruiser docked. They were greeted by uniformed “Team Members” demanding to review the freighter’s manifests, conduct inspections, and interrogate the crew separately on the corporate cruiser. Mariam refused to engage in these demands, and the Sadiq immediately departed. They ventured into farther regions, lacking known trade lanes.
The crew were overworked from exploring new ports and establishing local relationships. Fewer transactions, longer voyages, and dwindling provisions increased stress levels. Uncles and aunties carried on during the recent hard times, but Ib felt the tension. While he practiced Arabic lessons in his room, he overheard his parents whisper-arguing.
During a layover on a Company-aligned planet, Ib and Ben wandered off from a group picnic beside a lake. Ib scratched his ankle on a sharp thorn, and within minutes, an acute blood infection crawled up his leg. At a local hospital, Ib entered a Company database for the first time. Mariam had set up educational instructions for her son and other children onboard via a third party, but Company algorithms connected the dots via his medical records. Milty received alerts about the consequences of Ib’s non-Company education, which he ignored. Every time the Sadiq orbited a Company planet or encountered Company ships, new warning messages followed. The last message had the telltale saccharine cheer but included an implicit threat: “Learn how your Company can help you succeed! Incorporation is required by law.” He deleted the message, and the freighter moved on.
Uncle Milty was on the bridge when a communiqué appeared on a panel, marked for Ib. The generic message title and subtle blue letters in the lower corner appeared trivial. Milty skimmed the text; the message was opaque and filled with jargon he could not comprehend. The last line, “Please return as required by Company protocols,” sent a chill up his horns. He showed the message to Mariam. Reading the first few lines, she adjusted the computer to bounce back the communiqué to its origin, erasing any trace of their location.
Over dinner in the galley, Uncle Milty arbitrated a familiar debate between parents about their son, inspired by the message. Mariam firmly believed their lifestyle was a living academy.
“His experience out here is invaluable,” she insisted. “You cannot teach what he learns every day with us. Outweighs any consequences of falling behind peers on Earth, academically.”
Ib senior wanted to lay all options on the table for his son.
“But he is living a cloistered life. We cannot protect him from the universe. Company is everywhere now, and he must learn to deal with it. Ib will make the right choice if we give him that choice to make.”
At a standstill over re-hydrated desserts, Milty’s usually neutral dinner table diplomacy between them began to wane. Company communiqués bombarded his ear of late, managing freighter communications. He looked at the couple and curled his horns inward.
“You both have strong instincts to protect your child. To let him grow up naturally. Of course, incorporation means he can spy on us.”
The cradle-to-grave administration of every person on Company planets was rejected by Ib’s parents and the entire Sadiq crew. They refused to become Team Members, or citizens of Company-managed worlds, despite all the social and economic benefits. Team Members of Ib’s generation were “incorporated” at birth, fitted with an optical implant so the Company sees what you see. Being born and raised on the Sadiq, Ib slipped through the monitoring like his parents. From the increasingly strident and focused Company edicts, Ib’s education appeared to be a specific target.
Milty placed his hand on the junior Ib’s shoulder, working on the corvette engine with the father.
“Time for your lessons, young one. I’ll take over.”
Ib resisted, but his father sent him off. Milty wiped a tool on a cloth and helped carefully remove a stubborn inner engine part.
“He doesn’t like school.”
“I was the same,” Ib senior said, smiling. “He inherited my grease monkey ways.”
“I believe Company children are rigorously assessed for personal traits and matched to production goals. I wonder what they would do with him. Make him a mechanic or pilot.”
“Well, we will never know. His mother will make sure of that.”
“Mariam tells me that Company children are set in a curricular tract leading to a particular function. Ib is good at many things.”
“Same for me. My father was on me to incorporate.” He leaned back and mimicked his father’s raspy voice. “Accumulate credits and a steady progression of promotions will follow.”
“Ib is free from that.”
“Yes, for now.”
“Your son’s schooling is a patchwork, and he’s surrounded by a rabble of space traders.”
Ib grunted and pulled the piece apart. “You have been a great tutor to him.”
Milty recalled cradling young Ib in his wide lap, helping him sound out words. In his teenage years, instruction switched to life lessons, which Uncle Milty had an inexhaustible list of “truths” to share.
“I gave him all I know. Mariam’s correct that his broad experience venturing through unexplored space with us will serve him well as an adult.”
“I know,” he replied, dunking the parts into a soapy bath. “And apprenticing with everyone in the crew.”
“Yes, he has learned multiple disciplines. I can’t help him with algebra or memorizing historical dates, and he struggles to apply himself to self-directed learning.”
“She is not happy with his exam grades.” He tapped the cleaned, shiny metal, reconnected the pieces, and handed it to Milty to re-install. “But good grades will not matter if has wits.”
“I think that’s Mariam’s point,” Milty said, sliding the unit into the engine and wrenching it securely in place. “Your son’s education is more than a casual annoyance to the Company. They want to use him to get to us and anyone living off their grid.”
After a particularly long stretch in deep space with nothing to see, Ib beamed as a glowing green ball came into view. Goaded on by his father, he begged his mother to let him go on a ship-to-shore trip. Mariam incredulously squinted her approval. Barely stepping foot on the mountainous planet, father and son looked for a flyer. They found an unattended airplane and dove into the cockpit. Ib mimicked his dad—smoothing back his hair and rubbing hands together before starting the engines. They skipped the airplane off the ground and flung it skyward, banking around mountain tops and hopping from puffy cloud to puffy cloud. Their adventure lasted all day and landed them in a penitentiary. Mariam successfully out negotiated an uptight representative of the local authorities, unable to translate all her words yet forcibly telegraphing her intent. As always, she let her boys off the hook, standing at attention on the freighter hangar bay.
“How exactly did this airship go missing for several hours?”
“Missing? Strange aliens must be confused,” Ib’s dad said and elbowed him.
“Yeah, strange aliens!”
Mariam understood the allure of adventure; she simply preferred excitement on the ground without stirring up a diplomatic fracas, which could be reported to Company. As punishment, Mariam assigned them cargo duties at the next solar system the Sadiq encountered—a stunning blue-water planet. They were tasked with unloading goods that Uncle Milty traded on one of the moons. Ib pouted and his father moaned, but Mariam left the freighter alone to enjoy the tropical planet. Walking on a long shoreline of pink sands, her knack for finding hidden treasures did not disappoint. She came upon a seaside bazaar. She browsed through ornately carved crafts, rustic pottery, and heaps of rich spices. The colorfully tattooed merchants failed to comprehend give-and-take economics, pushing away her varieties of money and barter items. She was beguiled by aromas coming from a tented stall and tasted a local confection without scanning for biohazards. Ten minutes later she ran to her shuttle for a medkit, gasping as her throat swelled.