Over Freezing Altitudes

by Kate MacLeod

  “This is about the thin air?” Scout said as Heidi turned to look at some items ranged out on her counter and compare them to something on the computer tablet in her hands.

  “Mostly,” Heidi said, turning back to Scout with an injection gun in her hand. “It’s a bit of a nanite cocktail, but nothing like what they give you on really inhospitable worlds. Part of it is to nudge up your blood’s ability to function in low oxygen. There are also some monitoring nanites to be sure your organs don’t start showing stress from either the low oxygen or more likely the low gravity. But you’re young and healthy; I really wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Scout held out her arm and Heidi pushed the sleeve a bit higher on Scout’s bicep before pulling the trigger. Scout felt the pressure, but it was far less painful than the loud crack of the gun made her expect.

  “What happens if the monitors detect a problem?” Scout asked. “I have smart glasses, but no implant.”

  “The nanites will send an alert to me, and I’ll come find you,” Heidi said, setting down the injection gun and picking up a smaller version of the same. Shadow, who knew what Heidi was after the moment she bent down towards the dogs, scuttled to hide behind Scout. Gert, as usual caught unaware, became dog patient number one with an indignant yelp.

  “I’ll reload, you catch the little one,” Heidi said. Scout bent to pick up Shadow, whose attempts at fleeing were only getting both of them hopelessly tangled in his long, fine leash. In the end, he found himself trembling in Scout’s arms as Heidi injected the nanites into his rear flank.

  “How long before we feel the effects?” Scout asked.

  “This building and most of the transport systems have increased oxygen pumped in, so you won’t have a chance to notice it until you get outside of those systems,” Heidi said. “In most cases, patients don’t feel any different at all. I’ve given you a bit more than usual since I’m told you’ll be leaving the city at some point.”

  “I guess I might. The McGillicuddys live in a village part of the time. So, is that it, then?” Scout asked, rolling the sleeve of the floral-printed tunic back down.

  “Nearly,” Heidi said, looking over her tablet again. “Your medical records were forwarded by Bo Tajaki, so we know there’s nothing to be worried about there.”

  Scout didn’t know what to say to that. She had no idea she even had medical records. But she had been put inside a pod after Shi Jian had nearly choked her to death. Scout supposed, in addition to healing her injury, it had given her a thorough examination. That, or he had accessed the earlier one that had been done on her back on Amatheon Orbiter 1. Or both.

  “He even forwarded clothing preferences. Very thoughtful of him,” Heidi said.

  “Clothing preferences?”

  “You’ll need weighted clothing to help mitigate bone and muscle loss while on this planet,” Heidi said. “We have printers that fabricate them to generic specs, but in your case, they are making them to order even as we speak. The dogs will have weighted vests. Most dogs find those comforting. Wearing the vest feels like a hug.”

  Scout’s head was spinning. She suspected Bo Tajaki had sent some money to Schneeheim as well. She doubted she was getting all of this care and attention for free.

  “And Minato, how are you doing?” Heidi asked.

  “Same old same old,” Minato said with a smile. “It’s actually feeling a bit better since you tweaked the braces. There’s less rubbing.”

  “That’s good to hear. We’ll take another look when you’re in next week. You might not believe it, but you are having a growth spurt. You’ll never be as big as your brothers, of course, but you’ll still be a damn sight taller than most survivors of Hachet’s disease.”

  “I don’t know why I’d want to be any taller,” Minato said. “It makes my bones ache.”

  “Just when they’re growing. Give it a bit of time. It’s good to see you keeping up with the exercise.”

  “Yes,” Minato said, fussing with her walking sticks, and Scout sensed she would rather discuss it without Scout and the dogs as an audience. “Well, if you’re done here, I’ll take Scout to the printing station?”

  “That’s fine. It was nice to meet you, Scout and . . . dogs. I hope you enjoy your time at Schneeheim.”

  “Thanks,” Scout said, not sure that “enjoy” would be the correct word.

  Minato led the way back to the hallway and further down, closer to the sounds of voices. There were other people in the hall, a few dressed like medical workers and most looking a little lost, clearly going through processing much like Scout was.

  Minato said something, but Scout couldn’t focus on the words. She had the sudden intense feeling of being watched again. She spun around, but no one was there. Just a pair of people walking the other way lost in a whispered conversation. Scout stayed where she was, eyes sweeping over every doorway, every cross hall that might be a place for a spy to duck off into.

  It felt different than last time. She had no sense of those blue-gray eyes on her. Was she being watched by someone else this time?

  “What is it?” Minato asked.

  “Nothing,” Scout at last admitted. “I felt like someone was following us.”

  Minato looked down the now-empty hallway. “Well, that wouldn’t be weird. Everyone’s processing ends at the printing station, and it’s just right here.”

  Scout glanced the direction that Minato was pointing but turned back to make one last search of the space behind her.

  The dogs looked up at her quizzically. Clearly, nothing was setting off their alarm modes. Scout must be overreacting.

  But she didn’t think she was.

  Scout followed Minato into a long room. A counter ran along the left side of the room, and behind the counter was a wall filled with cubbies, some empty and some containing little piles of folded clothing. The backs of the cubbies opened up onto another room beyond, and Scout could see people working on the other side, setting the clothing into the empty cubbies while massive machines whirred away behind them.

  “Here,” Minato said, stepping up to the counter and catching the attention of one of the employees with a wave of her hand. A girl of about their age came over, a polite smile on her face.

  “Scout Shannon,” Minato said, pointing back over her shoulder at Scout. “And dogs.”

  “Oh yes!” the girl said, looking down at a data display on the counter before turning to find the appropriate cubbies. She came back with two vests for the dogs, one slightly larger than the other, and a veritable mountain of clothing for Scout.

  “So much?” Scout said. She could no longer see the girl behind the counter, not through the pile of weighted clothing.

  “We had orders,” the girl said. “There’s a bag in here somewhere as well. If you want to take it all over to one of the changing rooms, you can get it all sorted.”

  Scout looked around and saw that the right side of the room was all doorways leading into closets with mirrors, a chair, and a counter on the far wall.

  “Thanks,” Scout said, somehow getting the entire mountain into her hands and staggering into one of the changing rooms. Minato followed after, awkwardly carrying the dogs’ vests by looping the armholes over her wrists.

  The weight must have been agony for her. Scout quickly dumped her load on the counter and ran back to help.

  “I’ll wait out here,” Minato said. “I’m just going to poke my head out into the waiting room and see if your friends are here.”

  “Thanks,” Scout said and shut the door.

  She got the dogs dressed first. Gert was delighted: her vest was a deep blue color and covered with overlapping images of daises. Her tail wagged at a blurring speed as Scout adjusted the straps around her.

  Shadow was less pleased, letting Scout know in a series of subtle muscle twitches that weren’t quite jerking his paws out of her hands that he wasn’t pleased with this putting-on-clothes business. His vest was a uniform black and had a matte quality that would likel
y make him truly invisible when standing in shadows. Normally his white fur glowed ghostly in all but total darkness.

  Scout found the bag first and sorted out what she was going to put on and what was going in the bag.

  “Hello, Teacher,” she said, summoning her AI as she pulled on a pair of pants that were nearly identical to the ones she had created for herself out of smart clothing back on Bo’s ship, but heavier and warmer because of the weighted cloth.

  “Hello, Scout,” Warrior said, appearing out of nowhere to lean against the counter. “How are you finding Schneeheim?”

  “Did you know about this clothing thing?” Scout asked.

  “We determined your preferences back on Bo’s ship,” Warrior said. “I was interfaced with the ship’s system at the time. Do you find it a breach of privacy?”

  “No,” Scout said, realizing she hadn’t really thought about it that way. Perhaps that merited more consideration later. “No, what I meant was, we only designed one outfit. There are like twelve here.”

  “The components are designed to mix and match,” Warrior told her. “I would estimate you have more than a hundred unique options for completed outfits with what you have here.”

  “But how?”

  “Extrapolation from your stated preferences,” Warrior said. “Of course, the longer you interact with me, the better I’ll know you. You do like these clothes, correct?”

  Scout pulled a vest with dozens of pockets on over her ribbed turtleneck sweater, then added another warmer shirt over the top. The colors were all browns, blacks, and beiges.

  “It’s perfect,” Scout said. “I just wish I had a hat.”

  “But there is one, just there,” Warrior said. Scout moved a stack of sweaters into the bag and found a knit cap of bulky gray yarn with flaps to cover her ears.

  Not exactly what she was longing for, but she had lost her father’s bush hat. Even if she created a new one just like it, it wouldn’t be the same.

  Scout pulled on the knit cap then stuffed the last of the clothes in the overfull bag. She slipped her stockinged feet into sturdy boots lined with warm, soft fur-like fabric and tightened the straps.

  Then there was nothing else to do but meet the Torreses. She opened the door and peeked out to find Minato waiting for her.

  “All set?” Minato asked.

  “Yes, thanks,” Scout said. “I’ve never gone anywhere feeling this prepared for everything that might happen. I even have goggles in this bag.”

  “You’ll appreciate those if you get caught out in a storm,” Minato said. “Nothing worse than blinding snow freezing to your eyelashes. Or so I’ve heard. I stick to the tower tops myself.”

  Scout slung the bag over her shoulder and grasped both of the dogs’ leashes. The girl behind the counter gave them one last wave and then they were out of the printing station and in the large echoey space filled with benches and throngs of people all waiting for ships to arrive or depart or for friends or family.

  Minato guided Scout to a corner of the space where two people were waiting near one of the immense windows looking out over the city. They weren’t enjoying the view, though; their heads were together as they spoke earnestly in hissing whispers, then fell silent as they saw Minato and Scout approaching.

  “Hello,” Scout said, moving the leashes to her left hand so she could extend her right one. “I’m Scout Shannon.”

  “No time for pleasantries,” John Carlo Torres said, ignoring her outstretched hand in favor of relieving her of her bag.

  “We have to run,” Mary Grace Torres told her. “You are in too much danger here.”

  Before Scout could say anything at all, not even good-bye to Minato, they each took hold of one of her arms and propelled her through the waiting room crowd, the dogs yapping excitedly as they were dragged along behind.

  Scout twisted her head around to catch one last glimpse of Minato leaning on her sticks, the white expanse of cloudy sky over the tower tops of the city behind her.

  Then the Torreses pulled her down another corridor, and Scout was lost among strangers.

  6

  The corridor ended in what Scout recognized as a train platform. She had taken many trains on Amatheon Orbiter 1, but those had all been under the surface of the city, in the bowels of the space station. She and the Torreses were still on the same level as the processing station under the docks, further down than the top of the dome but still higher than the tops of the other towers. How could there be a train up here?

  And yet a row of cars stood waiting, people scurrying on or off as a buzzing announcement and chiming bell said they were nearly out of time. Mary Grace scooped Shadow up in her arms and ran for the last of the train cars. John Carlo still had a grip on Scout’s arm and forced her into a run to follow. Gert galloped along beside her, head swiveling as she took in the activity around her.

  Gert was definitely getting more used to crowds than she used to be. Instead of being on edge, she seemed only a bit disappointed no one was noticing how pretty her vest was.

  The doors slammed shut behind them, and Scout staggered as the car jerked forward before finding a smoother acceleration.

  The car was smaller than the ones she had traveled on before, only large enough for the three of them plus the two dogs. There was a bench against the back wall where Mary Grace had collapsed with Shadow in her arms. Behind the bench was a curved window and Scout could see the train platform disappearing behind them.

  Then she was blinded by intense white light, blinking as she realized they had emerged from the tower and were following a narrow track that curved away from the building.

  “Where are we going?” Scout asked.

  “We have to get you down the mountain straight away,” John Carlo told her. “We had intended to keep you here with us in the city at first, but that’s not possible now.”

  “What happened?” Scout asked.

  “People are here,” Mary Grace told her. “People who have been asking about you. That’s not good. No one should even know you are here.”

  “What people?” Scout asked.

  “We’re still working on that,” John Carlo said. “We should have some answers soon, or possibly just better questions. But in the meantime, we’re taking you to Emma McGillicuddy.”

  Scout felt suddenly dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the motion of the vehicle under her. She reached out to touch the wall of the car, then followed it down until she was sitting on the bench beside Mary Grace. Gert flopped down on top of Scout’s feet and Shadow stretched out from Mary Grace’s arms to lick at Scout’s elbow.

  The Torreses must have sensed she needed a minute. Mary Grace put a hand on Scout’s knee, and John Carlo turned toward the front of the car to have a whispered conversation through some sort of communicator.

  Scout hadn’t consciously made a mental picture of the two, but she realized that part of her had formed an expectation of who she would be meeting. They were lawyers, after all, and she had seen entire squads of lawyers every time Bo had met with his cousins the Months.

  The Torreses were nothing like those lawyers. They weren’t wearing flashy, tailored clothing with neat haircuts and the latest wearable tech.

  No, the Torreses looked like farmers. And Scout realized that was probably just what they had been, back before the Tajaki trade dynasty had taken over their world. They had become lawyers out of necessity, but they hadn’t bothered conforming to all of the trappings.

  Scout looked down at the hand on her knee. That was a hand that was still making time to dig in the dirt, to brush up against hot engines or get splashed with jelly cooking at a rolling boil. Scout had never been a farmer herself—her parents had been bakers—but she had lived among them most of her life.

  To her immense relief, she felt comfortable with the Torreses.

  Then the car started to slow, pulling up to the next station, and she felt both of them tense.

  She might be comfortable with the Torreses, but sh
e was still in danger.

  “I felt like someone was watching me back at the processing station,” Scout said.

  John Carlo turned to give her a sharp look through the untidy length of his salt-and-pepper hair. “That is a highly regulated area,” he said. But he didn’t sound like he doubted her.

  “I think it might be one of the assassins trained by Shi Jian,” Scout said.

  John Carlo’s eyes widened in surprise. He glanced at Mary Grace, who shrugged, her eyes just as puzzled as his. Scout opened her mouth to further explain when they were once more plunged into darkness.

  “Head down,” John Carlo said even as Mary Grace was putting a hand on Scout’s back to guide her into putting her head between her knees. Shadow whined a complaint at being pushed aside. Gert looked up at Scout’s face looming over her, then up at John Carlo, who had moved to stand at the door, prepared to block the way with his body.

  Scout stayed quiet as the doors hissed open and the sound of a busy platform beyond filled the train car. She heard laughter, voices calling farewell, someone playing a wind instrument in a swooping, dancy melody.

  A moment later the doors hissed back shut, cutting out the sound, and they continued on their journey.

  “Two more stops,” John Carlo said. “Then we change to the tram.”

  “What’s the tram?” Scout asked.

  “Like a train car but suspended from wires,” Mary Grace explained, and Scout remembered that like her, John Carlo and Mary Grace had grown up on a much lower-technology world than anything in Galactic Central. They didn’t make her feel foolish for asking basic questions.

  “The McGillicuddys are in a hamlet at the end of the tramway,” John Carlo told her. “A winter home for a collection of herders. Not a big town, but with winter coming on it’s not as desolate as in summer.”

  “And I’m going to hide there?” Scout asked.

  “No one would think to look there,” John Carlo said. “Or so we thought. The city should have been safe enough for you, but bad people are out looking for you.”

  “We have contacts in the criminal element here,” Mary Grace explained. “Someone is paying for any information on your whereabouts. As far as we can tell, you aren’t meant to be harmed, but normally there would be a specific instruction to not hurt you, and the orders as they’ve been relayed to us have no such instruction.”