by M. D. Cooper
That was another thing. Was there even any point to pursuing Walter’s idea? How would a relationship work if she spent most of her time out working on the Gamma bases? Surely that would be too much of a strain. Could a relationship last under such circumstances?
Walter ventured,
Erin thought back. There had been the party when the Intrepid had crossed over New Canaan’s heliopause. After that…nothing. They’d met with the FGT a few days later, and from there on, she’d done nothing but work—which was fine, because she loved her work. Yet she supposed a change of pace would be nice.
Walter was right. If she didn’t like the person—unlikely though that was, given Murry’s expertise in these things—she could still enjoy the evening. She was glad she’d booked one of the most highly rated restaurants in Landfall. She could eat a decent meal for a change, something a bit different from the ship’s fare, or the hastily grabbed snacks she’d been living on since arriving on Carthage.
Erin found herself growing more curious about the person she was to meet that night. She’d barely registered more than a name. She returned to the information Murry had sent, but before she had time to look up more details, someone contacted her.
It was Sasha. Erin had been waiting for her to arrive. The young engineer was on her way to Tanis’s office to help out with the SATC site search. Erin wondered what was so important that Sasha was contacting her now, when they would see each other in minutes.
Sasha sighed.
The door to Tanis’s office opened, and Sasha came in. “Has that ship lost its Link before?” she asked.
“Yes, it has,” Erin replied, her tone sour. “It was a fluke the first time, but now…. It’s time for that ship to be decommissioned. It was an original from Sol, and we ran it hard in the Kap too, making runs from Tara to Victoria. I don’t know why we’re even still using it—I guess we’re packrats. Anyway, do we have a preliminary report on how those two craft ended up on top of one another?”
“Not yet. I’ve asked the air and space controls to provide them, but it only occurred a few minutes ago; they’re still processing the details. And they’ll have to speak to both pilots.”
Erin leaned back in her chair. “We need to get the SATC up and retire these disparate systems, Sasha—before someone gets killed. If we hadn’t redirected so many of our resources out to the shipyards….” She drew a deep breath. The reasoning for the resource allocation was sound, it just made everything more difficult than anyone had expected it to be. “Those private craft are going to be filling the skies before long.”
Sasha sat down and studied the globe of Carthage that Erin had opened above the desk. “Have you found any possibilities yet?”
“No, and you know what? I’m not even going to try. The promontory here on Knossos is the best spot. We both know it. This isn’t just an SATC, but the planetary defense center. Placement is crucial.”
“So you’re going to override that stuffy scientist’s objections? Good. Carthaginians’ safety takes priority. He can always start another fish farm or whatever it is that he does. He said himself there were plenty of places that are still deserted.” She added, giggling, “Plenty of places he can go skinny dipping in private.”
“I probably shouldn’t have told you about that. No, I’m not going to insist he move away either. Something occurred to me when he came over to complain about the vibrations. There’s something else we could use, something that won’t cause the slightest vibration, and in fact would make the job much faster, easier, and simpler. The only problem is, I need permission from Governor Richards. I’m not sure she’ll give it, but she might—especially when I tell her about the near-disaster we had today. If she does, we can complete a week’s worth of excavating in a few minutes.”
“Minutes? What could we use that would do that?” Sasha asked. Then realization hit, and her eyes widened. “Do you really think the governor will let us use that?”
“The more I think about it, the more I believe there’s a good chance she will. She’ll totally understand the urgency of the project, and if there was ever the perfect place to use the technology, this is it. Whatever we do inside the granite of Knossos will be entirely hidden from prying eyes.”
“Right.” Sasha bit her lip. “But…”
“What? You think we shouldn’t use it? Don’t worry about saying what you think, Sasha. I want to hear it.”
“Aren’t you at least a little bit worried about what could happen with that tech? What if it got out of hand? I’ve heard stories. There are reasons why that type of research was outlawed in Sol. I feel nervous just knowing we carted it around with us on the Intrepid.”
“No, the prospect of the picotech getting out of control isn’t a concern. Those stories you heard are from a long, long time ago. The use of it in the Battle of Victoria and then at Bollams’s World was a sad necessity, not an accident.
“But the fact that we’ve been able to harness it so well proves that there’s no pico doing anything except exactly what it’s set up to do. On the other hand, that isn’t to say we can be casual about it. If it were to fall into the wrong hands, it would be disastrous. That’s what the governor is going to be concerned about.”
Sasha’s lips twisted, and she appeared unconvinced. “What about the Transcend? We know they’re watching us from beyond the heliosphere.”
“Right, we need to keep any use of the picotech invisible. We can’t build a city in hours—or my shipyards, for that matter—however useful that might be. But at the SATC site, we’d be using it under hundreds of tons of rock, and the gas plumes obscure the site much of the time. The Transcend—or anyone else—would have to use direct active scan to even guess at what we’re doing.”
“But what if someone on Carthage wanted to steal it?” Sasha asked.
“I don’t think that’s very likely,” Erin replied. “The danger of a Carthaginian stealing the picotech is probably nonexistent. We’re among friends here. But we’ll take all necessary precautions to protect it anyway. It isn’t the kind of stuff you want to leave lying around.”
“OK. So stuffy scientist and picotech it is. I’m excited. I’ve never seen picotech in use before. And maybe our local marine biologist might flash us when he goes for a swim.”
Erin rolled her eyes. “Really wishing I hadn’t told you that.”
“I’m glad you did. That’s how I’ll imagine him the next time he comes over harrumphing and grumbling, as I’m sure he will. So you’re going to message the gover
nor?”
“I am,” Erin replied. “I’ll send a packet later today. I think she was on her way to inspect the moons of Roma, but she’s been taking some detours, so I don’t know exactly how long it’ll take to reach her. I imagine that she’ll probably want to think about it for a while, too. Hopefully we’ll have her answer in a few hours, or a day at worst.”
“Is something wrong?” Sasha asked.
Erin realized she was scowling. “Uh, no, just something my AI said.”
DATE NIGHT
STELLAR DATE: 11.28.8935 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Landfall, Knossos Island
REGION: Carthage, 3rd Planet in the New Canaan System
Isa couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d been on a blind date, or any date, or even had a romantic flirtation. She hadn’t been close to anyone in that way since coming out of stasis upon the Intrepid’s arrival at Carthage.
Her former lover had decided to remain on Victoria, and it had taken her a while to move on from the sad and painful parting. That was the problem with moving to a brand new colony: leaving people behind meant never seeing them again. Granted, had the Intrepid not hit Kapteyn’s Streamer and jumped forward five thousand years, it would have been possible to return to the Kap, but now there was no chance of going back.
Well, with FTL there is, but there’s no reason to do that now.
As she browsed her wardrobe trying to decide what she should wear, Isa wondered if that parting was the reason she had the constant feeling of being dissatisfied. Many of the colonists—especially the Sirians—felt survivor’s guilt for leaving. Had she made a big mistake in leaving Victoria? Was there something she could have done if she’d stayed? If that was the case, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it—especially with what had happened there. She’d have to muddle through and find a way to make a life for herself.
Isa pushed the sorrowful thoughts out of her mind and focused on the task at hand. This was supposed to be a pleasant evening. She picked out a smart, fitted, green dress, the tight bodice of which tapered into her waist and flared out over her hips before ending in handkerchief points halfway down her calves.
Being shorter than average sometimes made it hard to find flattering clothes, but she’d become moderately proficient at adjusting autofit clothing. The dress did the job, and the shade complemented her olive skin and black hair.
After telling her home comfort system to turn her bedroom windows to mirrors, she put on the dress and checked herself in her reflection.
She looked good. Stylish, but not a slave to fashion. Chic and cute at the same time. If her blind date didn’t like her, it wouldn’t be because she looked like a derelict.
She combed her hair and pinned it into a pleat at the back of her head, before pulling down a few strands to curl around her neck and collarbone. She didn’t want to look too formal.
Isa hadn’t found out any more about her date than the person’s name, so technically, it was only blind because she hadn’t wanted to check the visual on Murry’s match. She liked surprises. She hadn’t even delved into the person’s history, thinking that if she knew all about her date, what would they have to talk about?
Her stomach fluttered, and she smiled at her own nervousness. How silly. What is there to be afraid of? If they didn’t click, they could have a polite meal and go their separate ways with no loss to either of them.
Her rationalization of her jitters did nothing to quiet them.
To put a stop to her pensive introspection, Isa decided to leave early for the restaurant where her date had suggested they meet. She would have to wait a while, but that didn’t matter. Watching the other diners would help to distract her from her thoughts.
She went out and took the elevator that led to the scooter lot. The restaurant was downtown, and she didn’t want to walk the distance in formal shoes. Tucking her dress under her, she mounted the machine and drove it out into the street.
Landfall traffic was building up. As more and more colonists came out of stasis, the small city seemed to grow busier day by day. The public scooters were ubiquitous, and couples and families also took the utilitarian autocars. Isa noticed more luxurious, private transportation in the streets too, but the traffic wasn’t so bad as to delay her.
She pulled up outside the restaurant in under ten minutes. She dismounted and parked the scooter in the street. The restaurant could only be described as ‘swanky’.
At its entrance, a human maître d’ greeted her.
Sure is an upmarket place.
“Good evening,” the man said. “Do you have a reservation?”
“I don’t, but I think my friend made one.” She gave the name, and the maître d’ called a waiter—another real live person—to escort her to a table. The waiter pulled out her chair and tucked it under her as she sat.
Isa gazed down. On the snowy white tablecloth in front of her were a bewildering number of knives, forks, and spoons, and above them stood three separate glasses. It was like she’d stumbled into a sim.
She’d never been in such a classy place; the Edeners—
Isa shook her head. There were no Edeners anymore. They were all colonists now. Either way, they’d never unveiled this level of finery at Kapteyn’s Star. She wondered if they’d held back because they hadn’t wanted to share, or if it was because of the tech-restrictions that governor Markus had imposed to keep the Edener culture from subsuming the Noctus.
We few Noctus that came to New Canaan are all that remains of our people now.
Her idea that arriving early would quell her unease had been way off mark. What was she doing there? She was an unemployed nobody from a dead culture. She’d grown up on the mining platforms of Sirius, where people didn’t even dream of such luxury. Isa thanked the stars that she’d put on a half-decent dress. At least she could pretend she wasn’t entirely out of place.
The waiter was politely hovering, and Isa ordered some wine. She had no idea what to choose, so she randomly pointed at the menu. When was the last time she’d drunk wine? She couldn’t remember. She looked around. The place was entirely empty. So much for her plan to distract herself by watching the other diners.
When her wine arrived, she gulped down a mouthful. As she lowered her glass, a woman strode through the main door. Isa recognized her as Erin, one of the colony’s chief engineers. Could this be her?
The woman spoke to the maître d’, and the waiter brought her inside the restaurant. He escorted her in the direction of Isa’s table.
Her stomach twisted. This was her date.
Erin was on the shorter end of the spectrum, around Isa’s own height—a relief—and fine-boned. Her hair was dark brown and cut short, almost mannishly, and she was wearing a smart, tailored pantsuit. Her expression seemed calm, but something about her eyes told Isa she was just as terrified.
When she sat down, her deep brown eyes made brief contact with Isa’s before flicking away again as she ordered her drink from the waiter, requesting a cream soda. Had Isa been wrong to order wine? Did the woman anticipate the evening to be less casual than Isa had assumed it would be?
The waiter left, and Isa reached out a hand, almost knocking over a glass. The woman stared at Isa’s hand for a moment as if wondering what to do with it. Then she came to her senses and extended her own. She actually did knock over a glass. She quickly grabbed it with her other hand and set it upright.
“Erin,” the woman said, blushing as they shook.
“I know, you’re colony leadership,” said Isa. Then she realized the absurdity of her reply. “I mean, I’m Isa,” she amended.
“I—” Erin’s tense expression broke and she gave a great snort of laughter.
Isa chuckled. “You were going to say ‘I know’, too, right?”
Erin nodded, laughing too hard to answer. Isa joined in, and the tension between the two women disappeared in an i
nstant. The sound of their mirth drowned out the gentle classical music that was playing, and at the entrance, the maître d’ glanced disapprovingly over his shoulder.
Erin was the first to calm down and catch her breath. “I’m sorry. This whole thing is too silly for words. Shall we just try to have a nice time? Someone recommended this restaurant to me, saying the food’s great, and all the dishes are made from scratch and cooked on stoves. What do you think? Are you hungry?”
“Now that I think about it, I’m ravenous,” Isa replied.
She picked up the menu and scanned the list, not even recognizing half the dishes. As she was trying to decipher the options and pick something, every so often, she would peek over the top of her menu at Erin.
After she’d done this for the fourth or fifth time, Erin noticed and said, “Can’t you find anything you’d like? I’d help, but this is mostly gobbledegook to me. We can go somewhere else, if you’d prefer.”
“No, everything looks great, even if I don’t know exactly what they all are. My problem is I want to try all of them, and…”
“Yes?”
Isa knew she shouldn’t say it, it was far too soon. But her feelings were pushing their way out of her mouth.
“I didn’t look at your visual before agreeing to meet you. I had no idea you were so beautiful,” she admitted.
Erin blinked and turned pink. “Oh. Thank you.” She lifted her menu higher.
Isa’s stomach sank. Had she spoiled the friendly rapport they had been building? But Erin seemed to get over her inappropriate comment within a few moments. She called over the waiter and gave her order, and Isa also placed hers.
She’d chosen scallops in cream sauce as her appetizer and steamed sablefish as entrée. The waiter suggested a wine that would complement the fish. Isa looked questioningly at Erin, but she only gave a small shrug. Isa agreed to the waiter’s suggestion and wondered how much the meal was going to cost. She had savings, but they wouldn’t last forever, and living on the basics available to everyone would get old quickly. Still, Erin seemed nice, and Isa had high hopes for a fun evening. It wouldn’t hurt to treat herself.