Into the Green

by J. L. Curtis

  ***

  Fargo’s comp dinged, “Hyper Alert. 30 minutes to standard space return. Secure all loose items, prepare for down transition. Acknowledge.”

  Fargo touched his comp, “Fargo, acknowledge.”

  Fifteen hours later, Hyderabad was docked at the space station orbiting Harbison’s World. Fargo had decided to go aboard the station, if only for a quick pass through, to smell air that was less canned, and to get something other than an autochef meal.

  Picking up his personal weapons from Klang, he slipped the gun belt and knife on, and took a deep breath. Better or worse, let’s see what there is here… Stepping out of the boarding tube he turned to Khalil, “Permission to go ashore?”

  Khalil smiled, “Enjoy, sir. Just remember we cast off in nine hours. With or without you.”

  Fargo laughed, “Oh, I’ll be back, probably long before then.” Sniffing the air he said, “Well, it doesn’t smell like the ship anyway.”

  Khalil laughed, “Depending on where you go, it gets considerably worse on here.”

  Fargo held up his hands defensively, “Don’t want to know. Nope, not a bit!” With that, he headed for the central section of the station, looking around curiously. It had been at least five years since he’d seen a civilian station, and marveled at some of the styles in evidence.

  Passing the section with the maintenance shops, he saw an arrow saying Central Core. Turning he followed that passageway, and gradually felt the decrease in g-forces as he walked. The central core turned out to be a four level open area, with a variety of shops, restaurants, outfitters, bars, and the ever present bordellos.

  Looking into one bar that was fairly well lit, he saw a number of humanoids, and figured it would be fairly safe. As he stepped into the bar, he saw a couple of tables of spacers back in one corner, with all of them wearing their party suits. Mixed in with them were a few military pilots, and from the holos and patterns on their suits, he guessed they were F-288 pilots, probably from the detachment that maintained space superiority in this cluster.

  Ordering a bulb of supposedly guaranteed old Earth scotch, Fargo slipped into a booth with his back to the wall and just watched the action. The spacers and pilots were getting rowdier and rowdier, as their party suits became more and more garish. Finishing his bulb, Fargo decided this might be a good time to find somewhere else to be, and he slipped quietly out the hatch.

  Strolling further along the central core, he saw restaurants, and finally a strip of bordellos. Checking his datacomp, he decided to get his ashes hauled, then eat. Picking the cleanest looking bordello, he took the quick pick with a simulacrum, and twenty minutes later was back on the core walk, five hundred credits poorer, but feeling much better.

  He sniffed, smelled Italian food, and his stomach rumbled in response. He opened his senses to try to narrow down the location, and felt like he’d been hit with a thousand voices, as a maelstrom of emotions bombarded his mind. He quickly locked his empathic sense back down, built a mind block on his psi sense and kept walking until he saw a holo of a baker throwing a pizza, and an air unit outflow valve about the hatch.

  Slipping through the curtain, he noted wryly that they were pumping the scent of their cooking into the central core. But it worked, and here he was. Sitting at a table facing the door, he quickly ordered from the tabletop automenu, and a real waiter came by with a water bulb and asked if he’d like a wine or other liquor.

  Fargo leaned back and thought, “Red wine. Mid-price. Deliver with the food please.”

  The waiter nodded and slipped silently away. Minutes later, the waiter reappeared with his order, and deftly placed the dishes on the table, followed by a real carafe and wine glass. Pouring the wine the waiter asked, “Is the wine suitable, sir?”

  Fargo sipped appreciatively, “This is actually very good. Yes, definitely suitable.” Digging into the plate of pasta, Fargo was surprised at the quality of the meal, and reminded himself that it’d been a long time since he’d actually had a real meal anywhere other than the base, or on a ship.

  After finishing the meal, he dialed a dessert, and watched as it popped out of the table in front of him. Figuring he was pushing his luck, he finished it, paid his bill, and headed back to the ship.

  Transit

  Back aboard Hyderabad, Fargo resigned himself to a long, boring transit, since Klang had told him they had no cargo for Star Center, and would go direct to Hunter’s space station. He started working out more and more, and using the VR sim to practice firing his weapons.

  He’d also started sparring with Khalil, one of the crew from Earth 4. He started trying to use his senses to try to anticipate movements, but Khalil apparently had a pretty good mind block, as Fargo never was able to read anything other than low empathic levels of emotion. As Fargo improved, he was able to beat Khalil two out of three, then three out of four bouts.

  His ego got the best of him and he challenged Klang to spar, with Klang promising to go easy. That lasted about twenty seconds, as he attempted to leg sweep Klang, and it was like kicking a tree. Klang may have been big, and muscular, but he was also snake quick, and he grabbed Fargo’s upper arm and threw him into the side wall of the gym, knocking Fargo unconscious.

  Fargo woke up in the medbox, in traction and with a dry mouth. Looking out, he saw a worried Klang, and Captain Jace staring back at him. Captain Jace asked, “Can you talk? How many fingers am I holding up.”

  Fargo wondered why that question and as he went to answer, his whole jaw creaked, “Uh, two. What happened?”

  Jace slapped Klang on the shoulder, “You were sparring with Klang, always a bad idea, and he threw you.”

  “Into what?”

  “Um, the far bulkhead. He forgot he wasn’t sparring with one of his Arcturian loaders.”

  Klang squeaked and he GalTrans said, “Lieutenant of the Scouts, Klang bad. Harm not meant. Klang sorry to cause injury.”

  Fargo said ruefully, “Klang, understand I do. Ego my mistake. Human cannot beat Arcturian, Fargo should better know. Fault is mine.”

  Klang ducked his head and squeaked, “Damage you, I did not?”

  Fargo looked at Captain Jace, “Nothing serious, Captain can verify?”

  Jace replied, “Nothing major broken. Concussed, broken jaw and left orbital. Both will be repaired by tomorrow. Concussion may take a day or two.”

  Fargo sighed, “Another night in the box. Oh well. I guess I’m paying for my stupidity.”

  Jace laughed, “Awake or asleep?”

  Fargo said, “Put me out. I’ve spent so damn much time in these boxes I’m starting to get claustrophobic.” The last thing he remembered was the captain reaching for the medbox controls.

  ***

  As the IC blared the hyper warning, Fargo closed the reader, and slipped it back into its slot in the desk. Forty-five days of boredom had allowed Fargo to get more familiar with the entire Rimworld cluster than he ever wanted to be. He’d read all the articles, reports, and watched all the vids and newsies from Hunter, and the other habitable worlds in the cluster.

  He’d also seen his sister, Luann, and her husband Mikhail in a couple of the vids, since Mikhail was the Tight Beam Technology manager for Hunter, responsible for all the power beams and communication riders that went to every building on the planet. He and his team had built the system off the four existing terraformers, placed the subfeeder beams, and ensured each building had power and communications available. He had been featured pretty much any time there were TBT issues, or expansions on Hunter, or anywhere else in the cluster.

  Mikhail and Luann had also taken on a secondary colony skill as general merchandise providers, and their trading post at Rushing River was apparently doing well. He’d also found birth notices for their two children, so apparently he was an uncle, with both a nephew and a niece.

  Hunter’s population was approaching a half million, with the larger settlements centered near the four terraformers that were still working in what was considered main
tenance modes. The diversity of plant and animal life were also of interest to scientists, zoologists, xenophiles, and xenobiologists, who visited the planet regularly.

  As a colony world, they didn’t have a lot of weather support or satellites up, since TBT provided not only power but communications and e-tainment over the same fused beam. There were two comms satellites in geo-synchronous polar orbits, and they fed communications to the TBT stations at the terraformers.

  The Hyderabad eased into the docking clamps at Hunter’s space station with a slight bump, and the IC clicked on, “Docked. Landing party prep for connection. Passengers are free to unstrap and gather belongings. Estimated fifteen minutes to complete connections. Customs, Immigration and Pest Control aboard in twenty. Passengers may depart after C and I are finished.”

  Fargo unstrapped, grabbed his already packed bags, and slipped over to the mess. Punching the autochef for one more cup of coffee, he sat thinking, I’ll be seeing Luann for the first time in almost fifteen years. She’s going to let me stay with them for a while, whatever that is, till I get my feet on the ground. What I really want is to get to the cabin and get away from people. The autochef dinged and spit out his coffee bulb, and he juggled it as he sat back down. What will she say? What, how… How are they doing? Mikhail seems successful, and from the pictures Luann seems to be doing okay. I wonder if I owe them any money… Am I doing the right thing? What am I going to do? What…

  The IC clicked on, “Passengers are now authorized to depart the ship. Luggage will be at the station side of the boarding tube. Thank you for flying with us!”

  Fargo picked up his meager bags, and headed for the boarding tube. Keldar was standing there and said dismissively, “Your bill is paid. You may go.” Fargo started to snap back at him, then decided it just wasn’t worth it. Floating through the boarding tube, he hit the grav line at the space station side of the tube, and stepped quickly forward. Klang was standing there as the guard, and had both Fargo’s trunks and his weapons.

  Placing his bags in the first trunk, he slipped the gun belt and vibro knife on, turned to Klang and said, “Master of the cargo, pleasure it has been to fly with you. Wishes for a continued good life, I offer.”

  Klang bowed his head, and his GalTrans spit out, “Lieutenant of the retired, pleasure was mine. Education you did give me. Enjoyment in your life I wish.” Fargo nodded and keyed his trunks into action as he walked slowly down the sterile passageway. Finding the passage to the core, he turned down it, and found the scheduler board. A shuttle was departing in two hours for Rushing River Spaceport.

  Inserting his data cube into the automated scheduler, he confirmed his seat, and the size and weight of his trunks. A panel slid aside and he was directed to place his trunks on the belt inside. He did so, wondering if he’d ever see them again, then laughed at himself for the thought.

  Finally, the small atmospheric capable shuttle undocked from the space station, and Fargo, along with six other passengers, felt the pressure of g-forces as the small shuttle dropped away from the station. Ninety-three divs and one re-entry later, the shuttle landed at Rushing River Spaceport.

  Auto loaders were unloading the shuttle as Fargo and the others walked stiffly down the boarding ramp. Fargo twisted and bent, trying to get the kink out of his back from almost four hours strapped in a seat, and took the time to look around. It had been almost three months since he’d actually smelled unfiltered air, and he took a deep breath, reveling in not only the scent of the burnt hypergolic fuel, but the hint of wood smoke and a tiny hint of near pine in the air.

  Fargo walked toward the administration building with some trepidation, not sure if Luann or Mikhail would even be there. His fears were put to rest when he was fifty yards from the building. Luann burst out the door and started running toward him. He recognized the blonde hair and small figure immediately, and without thinking he started jogging toward her, then scooped her up in his arms.

  He was shocked when his psi talent kicked in as he touched her and he got Luann’s jumbled thoughts of love, worry, a reverent prayer of thanks and worry over what he would think of the cabin she and Mikhail had bought and installed for him. He hugged her back, and set her gently on the ramp. Seeing tears running down her face, he asked, “Lu, what’s wrong?”

  Luann hit him in the chest, “I didn’t know if you were alive or dead, you bastard! I had to find out from the Patrol that you’d actually survived! Six fucking months without a word! Damn you!”

  Stunned, Fargo stepped back, “What. Do. You. Mean?”

  Luann smacked him again, “The last message I got from you was that you were going out for a month or two. Then nothing! Nothing! How could you do this to your little sister?”

  “Lu, I was out for over two months between the trip back and the time in the Med-Comp. I wasn’t even conscious! How the hell did you…”

  She hugged him fiercely, laughing and crying, “You should have figured out some way to contact me, even if you were unconscious!” Grabbing him by the hand she said, “Come on. Mikhail is with the kids and I’m afraid he’s going to burn dinner if we don’t get back quick. Where are your bags?”

  Fargo was jolted again as Luann’s thoughts flooded his mind, now centered on dinner, worry about how Ian and Inga would react and the hope that he’d like his room. Disengaging from Luann, he got his trunks and asked, “How do we get back to your place?”

  Luann laughed, “Oh, we’ve got a runabout. Stay here and I’ll go get it.” She disappeared around the corner of the building, and came back with what looked to Fargo like an ancient Jeep. Using the anti-grav built into the trunks, he got them in the back, and hopped in as Luann drove them quickly back to the Town of Rushing River.

  ***

  Luann and Mikhail had taken a homesteading contract to Hunter back in ‘07, after Fargo had made one of his very infrequent trips back to Earth and told them what he’d seen on this Earth analog. Earth normal, 1.05 standard gravities, terraformed over 400 years ago, then lost and never colonized other than a SierraSafari outpost when the Great War started. Abundant life forms, many imported from Earth by the SierraSafari group. The group included trees, edible plants, animals, birds, and even insects in their imports. Best of all, it turned out to be only two jumps from Kepler 62.

  Luann chattered about how they’d been selected as primary members, due to Mikhail’s Tight Beam Technology position, and his willingness to be the planetary manager for the systems in the sector as they were installed. She complained about the year in training and putting together the supplies for the trading post. But she reserved her real bitching for the year in stasis coming out here, “My God Ethan, how do you stand that stuff? I mean, going under and not knowing if I was going to wake up, or I would and Mikhail wouldn’t or he would and I wouldn’t, I mean…” She skipped over the ten years they had managed to not only survive, but actually make a little credit by trading with the hunters for the pelts and supplies for those that ventured into the Green, as the mountainous, heavily forested outback was called. She also talked about having Ian and Inga, the pains, and joys the kids brought and how much time they took. Fargo never got a word in edgewise, and wondered how they’d had the time and energy to have kids. That is, if Luann was to be believed.

  ***

  The entire family sat down at the kitchen table in the back of the trading post to a steak dinner with all the trimmings, and a pie from a fruit that tasted like a strawberry, except it was the size of a person’s fist.

  Fargo pushed back from the table and groaned, “Oh, that was delicious, Luann. You don’t know how long it’s been since I had an actual home cooked meal!” He glanced over at Ian, who was squirming in his seat, “You want to ask me something Ian?”

  Ian grinned, “How long since you had a home cooked meal, Unka?”

  Fargo cocked his head, “Probably fifteen years, Ian. At least that long, maybe longer!”

  Inga, eyes huge, said, “Longer than I am old? I am…” Inga surrepti
tiously counted on her fingers, tongue sticking out, “I am seben!”

  Fargo smiled at her, “Almost three times as long as you are old, Inga.”

  Luann smiled and Mikhail laughed at that as Luann said, “Okay kids, plates in the sonic, and you can watch e-tainment for thirty minutes, then it’s your bedtime!”

  The kids quickly put their dishes away and hurried upstairs to the e-tainment center in the living room. Mikhail stood and stretched, “Ethan, let’s get out of here and let Luann get the kitchen cleaned up. She’s particular where things go, and neither of us need to get on her bad side.”

  Fargo laughed as Luann swatted at Mikhail with a kitchen towel, “Out, out! Get your coffee and go! I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  ***

  Mikhail, tall and lean with a dark European complexion, was the diametric opposite of Luann. Almost silent by comparison, Fargo’s handshake with him had given Fargo a taste of an ordered mind, a loving husband and father, logical and planning new ventures well beyond tonight’s meal.

  Fargo smiled at the thought of Ian with Luann’s personality and Inga with Mikhail’s. They each took a bulb of coffee, and went into the main room. Luann came into the room as Mikhail brought Fargo up to speed on his proposed job and finished by saying, “So, that’s the deal. You can work as little or as much as you want. It’s all within the star system, so no going into stasis. You’d be providing security for TBT expansions. I do about two months a year on the road doing mods, expansions and cut overs. You’d be officially an employee of TBT, authorized weapons on any world as security, and any native species killed would be yours for whatever you’d want to do with them.”

  Fargo threw back the last of the coffee bulb, “That sounds great Mikhail, but let me think on it for one night.”

  Mikhail smiled, “No problem. Tomorrow, we’ll drag out the liteflyer, and I’ll take you up to your cabin. We can get a grav sled to tow your stuff up there in a couple of days.”