Viking by Daniel Hardman Page B

that a newly-single mother could not escape.
    Rafa imagined he was saving the house with the inflated paycheck he was supposedly
earning. He thought his sacrifice would be to her benefit.
    Oh, noble, very noble. He might have thought of that before murder came between
them.
    Of course he didn’t see the “past due” section at the bottom of his legal bills,
wasn’t aware that the university had revoked all benefits, had no idea that their
accounts were frozen while the government reclaimed ill-gotten gains. Maybe he would underwrite college for the twins—if he managed to live long enough—but in
the meantime, it was Julie’s parents keeping food on the table and a roof over their
heads.
    Even if Julie had been able to tap their modest savings account, would she do
it? How much had it been used over the years to satisfy Rafa’s love interest and
eventual victim? Or worse, how much had it grown from his crimes or even her contributions? The thought made her sick.
    She had to take Rafa’s money when it finally started flowing, if she ever wanted to
escape the bills from his lawyers—and hers. Could she bring herself to accept it?
    She’d already given up on the house. In a way, it was just as well: she wasn’t
looking forward to reinhabiting a place stiff with unhappy memories. Better to sell
everything. Rafa’s clothes, tools, trophies, books. The sandbox and tree house and
swing set. The fireplace. The bed.
    Better to buy something small and secluded where she was a stranger.
    But it still hurt to walk away from what had once been a happy home. It felt like
giving up. It was giving up.
    It was also being practical. If she wanted to support herself and the twins after
Rafa died, cutting expenses was a necessity. She’d been doing freelance translation for
years, sending and receiving documents by email. As a home business it was pleasant but
not especially lucrative; with diligence and some luck it might save her the tedium of
lipstick and high heels and daycare and an impersonal cubicle in the corporate people
mill. Of course, luck had not been on her side much, lately.
    Sighing, Julie pulled up the oft-neglected planner on her phone and looked up realtors
near their suburb in California. Time to list the house and get it over with. She
picked one at random and fired off a quick email asking for an appointment, wishing
even as she did so that she’d procrastinated instead.
    As she cleared the screen a flashing reminder caught her eye. “Save Rafa for
twins?”
    Julie had written the note herself, but for several seconds she couldn’t remember
what it meant. All she could think of was the literal meaning and its irony.
Save
him, indeed. Wouldn’t that be nice?
    She looked at the date again, and suddenly the significance dawned on her. Today was
the first day Rafa’s viking broadcasts—that portion that MEEGO was required to release
as a token perquisite to immediate family—would be freely available. He’d asked her to
save a copy for Lauren and Kyrie.
    She wasn’t certain it was a good idea. Was this the best way to remember their
father—living out his death throes on a violent world, surrounded by the dregs of
humanity? No matter how the company scrubbed for public consumption, it was bound to be
unpleasant.
    Yet neither could she bring herself to deny the request. Not out of hand,
anyway.
    Tonight she’d preview the broadcast and make a decision.

12
    By the time their shift was over, the sun had been down for hours. Rafa stumbled
through the main hatch, scarred by the excavating claws of the mining probe, tramped
across the commons, and sagged wearily into the alcove where his bunk should have
been.
    The mattress now hung uselessly overhead. Some of the others had cut theirs down,
but he was too tired to make the attempt. His head was still ringing from the bizarre
explosion of noise that had knocked him out for a few minutes during the day. Earthside
had no