The Proteus Bridge
Page 14
It was among their myriad databases that Crash found his number sequence, recorded from thousands of locations in the solar system, along with another data record explaining the meaning of the string: coordinates for the moon Proteus.
When he realized what the numbers meant, Crash nearly fell off his branch on the plascrete tree. Despite himself, he lost the connection to the Hoarders’ data stream and was forced to sit blinking, considering what he had learned.
Shara had told him the truth so long ago. Now someone was blasting an invitation to all of Sol, aimed at a particular community capable of receiving and interpreting the message. He didn’t assume the message was meant for a little grey parrot on Cruithne. No, it was meant for beings like Shara: Sentient AIs.
It was during a later dive into the Hoarders’ systems that Crash saw another name that he remembered, which made him miss his friend Ngoba Starl all over again. Among a list of assets the Hoarders deemed valuable was a woman named Fugia Wong, recently returned to Cruithne.
PART III:
MY ANDERSONIA
NEWLYWEDS
STELLAR DATE: 06.15.2958 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: In-Bound Applicant Assessment Authority
REGION: Ceres, Anderson Collective, InnerSol
Two (or so) years later…
There were seven other couples in the waiting room. Ngoba Starl couldn’t stop watching them, wondering if they were on Ceres for the same scam. One couple couldn’t stop making kissy faces, obviously trying too hard, while another acted like two wet cats in a bag, hissing at each other and rolling their eyes.
What are we supposed to look like?
He glanced at Fugia Wong sitting beside him, her bobbed black hair falling over her face as she read a data terminal in her lap. Boring, he thought. Boring is good.
Staring ahead, Ngoba ran through the bits of trivia he had memorized about his fake love. He also reminded himself for the thousandth time not to slip up with her name.
Call her ‘Fugia,’ not ‘Fug’. Fyoo-ji-a. Fugia, like the flower.
The problem was that he most definitely did not think of Fugia Wong as a flower. Sure, she was cute in a kitten-like way, with her heart-shaped face and dark eyes. But she was a hacker: a kitten with concealed claws.
They’d grown up together on the docks of Cruithne Station—Croon-ya, like a sappy song with happy lyrics. She was tricky, had even played him a couple times, but that was life on Cruithne, so he didn’t hold it against her. She had a hard edge and a brilliant mind that saw through to the real story in most situations, but she could also be mean, like a cat who purrs before she bites.
So maybe that’s a good idea? Do boring things so he might develop a dull sheen of boring like the other tools in the waiting room.
Fugia raised her head slightly, just enough to show her lips pressed together. If he hadn’t known her, she would have looked serene, like a new bride waiting to talk to a visa agent, like the other couples in the room. Her self-control made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t natural.
At nearly two meters tall, and lanky, with the natural muscle of a nineteen-year-old who had been hustling his whole life, Ngoba was still a half-meter taller than her, even while sitting down. They had talked about making their height difference a joke for the visa agent, how when they met, they couldn’t see eye-to-eye. Now as he sat twirling a lock of his curly black hair, he wondered if the metaphor could refer to more than just their respective height.
An agent in a grey uniform appeared at the entrance doorway and called another couple inside. A young woman and man sitting across from Ngoba and Fugia stood nervously, straightened their clothes, and followed the stern-looking man into the interview room.
Think about the money, Ngoba thought. Money, money, money.
It was better to think about the money because he had been irritated to discover he didn’t like his new Link very much, even though the neural implant gave him access to amazing things like databases, contextual information, and private communication. Link implantation was a passage to adulthood, and he had dreamed of the day he could afford the surgery, a day he had thought would never come until Fugia offered him a deal: Link surgery at a local medkiosk in exchange for his help with a mission. Once Fugia made her meeting and they left Ceres, Ngoba would get paid enough to keep him afloat for a year. Afterward, he could go back to Cruithne if he wanted, or anyplace else in Sol.
The options were dizzying. He’d never had that kind of freedom in his entire dirt-poor life.
What did she want? For him to play husband on Ceres, to help her gain access to the Anderson Collective, a society run by an authoritarian government that only admitted immigrants who were dedicated to their mission of terraforming Ceres and eventually leaving Sol altogether. They had missed the wave of colony ships in the twenty-fourth to twenty-eighty centuries and, as a people, seemed eternally pissed about the fact.
So here he was, playing Fugia’s dutiful fiancé—which would be easier if she’d let him touch her.
Stretching his legs, Ngoba figured the money was good, and the Link implant continued to prove interesting, but it would have also been nice to get a little sexual healing after his surgery. What if the visa agent wanted personal details? Did Fugia have any identifying marks? Did she know about the scar below his right nipple? It made perfect sense.
Fugia rolled her eyes.
He was still getting used to communication over the Link, which people described as ‘talking with colorful words’ because you could sense and even see emotion. He could tell how a person felt most of the time, so even if he hadn’t seen her, he would have known how she felt about what he had said. It was like normal talking in that respect, but there was more information available, images sometimes, or other bits of trailing information like references to a database or things like that.
Because he’d grown up hustling, he also wondered how much the colorful words could be faked. He hadn’t yet figured out how to lie to Fugia without getting caught, but it had to be possible.
On the long trip from Cruithne to the Mars 1 Ring and then to Ceres, they had asked each other questions, trying to imagine what the visa agent might ask. According to Fugia, the Collective wasn’t as interested in how people felt about each other as their desire to breed and make more Andersonians.
“You don’t need couples to breed,” Ngoba had said. “Or even people, for that matter.”
“They’re traditionalists. They also seem to think people gestated and born in Ceres gravity will be better suited to the work. They’re strict humanists. They think humanity is the best tool to shape anything in the universe.”
“But Ceres has a mini black hole. That’s what’s awesome about it.”
“And humans made that.”
“With drones and tech and nano-whatever.”
Fugia had given him another of her eyerolls. “I didn’t say I agreed with these people. I’m just telling you what they believe.”
“And why do you want to go there, again?”
“There’s someone there I want to talk to, and this is the safest way to do it. Their security screening for breeding couples is more lax than any other form of immigration.”
Ngoba had chuckled. “We’re going to be a breeding couple.”
“No,” Fugia had said flatly.
He grinned as he thought b
ack on the conversation. Round-faced and with a scowl most of the time, he would never have described Fugia as ‘sexy.’ But she could be, if she wanted. If I choose to see her that way, he supposed. Doesn’t proximity breed affection?
The word ‘breed’ just made him laugh, there was no denying it.
“Wong,” a voice called from the other side of the room. “Starl.”
Ngoba stood quickly and turned to watch Fugia carefully return her data terminal to the small satchel she carried at all times. Pulling the strap over her shoulder, she looked up at him with a surprising smile and took his hand.
“You ready?” she asked, voice sounding surprisingly warm.
Ngoba blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt change in her demeanor. He nearly got an erection.
“I’m ready,” he said, feeling himself blush.
“Come here,” Fugia said. She stood on her tip-toes to reach up and smooth the unruly black curls from his face. The sort of possessive action of a lover.
Ngoba gave her a stiff nod and turned to the visa agent, who was standing impatiently in the exit doorway. “This way,” the man said. Without waiting to see if they followed, he walked ahead of them down the corridor and disappeared around a corner.
TINA TINA TINA
STELLAR DATE: 06.15.2958 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: In-Bound Applicant Assessment Authority
REGION: Ceres, Anderson Collective, InnerSol
As far as Ngoba knew, the Ceres ring was several hundred years old at this point. Yet something about the immigration control area looked thrown-together. The corridor walls were all clean and smooth, with no dirt or evidence of living things anywhere except for photo-screens of what Ceres would look like eventually: green and blue, with the thin silver band of the Insi ring gleaming against the black of space.
They followed the agent to a small room with a door that slid quietly open, revealing a table with two chairs on either side. A young woman already sat in one of the chairs. She was solidly built, with short brown hair and brown eyes, and looked about their age. The woman stood as the door opened, nodding to the agent, who walked in first.
“Mister Chalder,” the woman said. “I’m Tina Kavers.”
Visa Agent Chalder nodded stiffly. “Miss Kavers. Your service is our strength. Please, be seated.” He stepped around the table to take the chair next to Tina. When he was seated, he motioned for Ngoba and Fugia to take the opposite chairs.
Ngoba let Fugia sit first, then pulled his chair back to make room for his legs. He glanced at Tina to find she was already frowning.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” Tina said, shifting her gaze to Fugia. “It’s simply surprising to me that Fugia didn’t show kindness to you, her lover, by pulling your chair out for you. She made you do it yourself after she’d already sat down.”
Ngoba glanced at Agent Chalder, whose stern expression had softened. He looked pleased with Tina, whom he didn’t seem to have known before they entered the room.
With a sinking feeling, Ngoba realized there wasn’t going to be an interview. Or, the interview was going to take a long time.
Tina was a chaperone.
Fugia lowered her face slightly, actually blushing. “Oh, I apologize. I’m not very informed in the ways of being a—” she paused as if choking on the word, “lover.”
Ngoba was too impressed by Fugia’s ability to fake a blush to respond immediately.
Agent Chalder didn’t seem to care. He consulted a data flow on the surface of the table. “It says here your point of origin is Cruithne?”
“That’s right,” Fugia said.
“And you?” Chalder asked, giving Ngoba a direct look. “I expect confirmation from each applicant.”
“Yes,” Ngoba said quickly. “Cruithne. I’m from Cruithne, too.”
“Age and genetic viability verified by bio-scan,” Chalder said. “Good.”
“Where did you meet?” Tina asked.
They had prepared for this question, and it was partially true. “Night Park,” Ngoba answered. “It’s an open-air bazaar on Cruithne. It used to be the center for mining when the asteroid was first developed, so it’s big and open. Not many places like that on Cruithne. There’s a fountain with parrots.”
A look of disgust crossed Chalder’s face. “We don’t need background details now. That will all be in Ms. Kavers’ report later, when the final entry decision is made. I also show you have the required funds for entry into the Ceres ring. You’ll be required to pay for your own meals and lodging during your inquiry period, as well as a fee for Ms. Kavers’ services.”
“That wasn’t in the entry information,” Fugia said.
The agent leveled his gaze on her. “Will that be a problem?”
Fugia answered tersely.
Ngoba dropped off the channel, giving Tina what he thought was a benign smile. She beamed back at him and sat up straighter.
The next fifteen minutes were spent reviewing their travel plans on the Ceres Insi Ring, including a trip down to the planetoid to tour the terraforming project. They would have Tina as a guide, as well as appointments with three different ‘collective groups’ that were currently taking in new family units. They would rank the groups, and the groups would do the same for them—until an offer was extended for permanent membership. The group would then become their family within Andersonia.
Ngoba found himself impressed by the process despite himself. The idea that two strangers could enter the Anderson Collective and be assigned a new family touched him more deeply than he expected. He had no family other than the few orphans he had remained in contact with from the Squat. His best friend, Riggs Zanda, was off doing his own hustle, leaving Ngoba to fend for himself in Cruithne’s Lowspin Docks, a place that didn’t care about anything but capital, and burned people up like engine oil. Robots were worth more than humans on Cruithne.
“Oh! You’re also here for Sharm,” Tina said, clapping her hands together. Her round cheeks grew flush with apparent excitement.
“Sharm?” Fugia asked with feigned interest.
“The Festival of Life. Sharm is when most babies are conceived on Ceres. What a wonderful time to start your new lives together as lovers.”
Ngoba enjoyed watching Fugia’s cheek twitch every time Tina said ‘lovers’.
“I’ll be honest,” Tina said. “I’m envious of your love. I don’t have a partner of my own. That’s one reason I serve as a guide. It nourishes my soul deeply to assist in growing the Collective’s families.” She gave Chalder a pious smile. “Don’t you think so, Agent Chalder?”
The visa agent cleared his throat and tapped the surface of the table, clearing the data feed. “Certainly,” he said. “Our family ties make us strong.”
“Absolutely,” Tina said. “And our strength makes us family.”
Ngoba frowned slightly, not understanding the aphorism. He supposed it might be an imperial thing, suggesting people could be forced into liking each other.
“So,” Chalder said, standing. “That concludes our intake interview. Your entrance visa is granted for ten days. From here, Ms. Kavers is responsible for you. Refer all questions and concerns to her. Understood?”
Ngoba and Fugia nodded.
“Will Ms. Kavers be staying with us, as well? I didn’t plan for that.”
“I have the apartment next to yours,” Tina said brightly. “The Entrance Bureau has taken care of everything. All you have to do is knock on my door, and I’ll be available any time.”<
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“How wonderful,” Fugia said dryly.
Tina’s expression darkened, and Ngoba added quickly, “We don’t want to put you out. Fugia mentioned the group visitation procedure, but we didn’t realize we’d be lucky enough to have our own guide. That’s just above and beyond, really. You’d never get that kind of service on Cruithne.”
The compliment seemed to assuage Tina’s hurt. She nodded. “It’s my honor to help. Also, you know, love.”
“Exactly,” Ngoba said, giving Fugia’s shoulder a squeeze. “Love.”
Agent Chalder clapped his hands impatiently. “Do you have any other questions?”
When they didn’t, he edged around the table to tap the wall control and open the door. Tina followed, sliding past the agent to get to the door. She pressed herself against him in the tight space, which obviously made the man uncomfortable.
“Pardon me, Agent,” she said brightly.
From the corridor, Tina waved her hand excitedly for Fugia and Ngoba to hurry. “We want to get you down to the residential section and checked into your apartment. Then we can get out into Sharm for the night. It’s going to be wonderful!”
“Do we get to wear silly hats?” Ngoba asked. “I love that stuff.”
Tina’s eyes sparkled. She reminded him of a holographic ad in a store window. “Oh yes. You can wear whatever you want.” She giggled with excitement. “What happens in Sharm, stays in Sharm!”
“You hear that, honey?” Ngoba asked Fugia.
His fake fiancée gave him her fakest smile yet.