by Corey Ostman
“Four hundred?” said one roider, clamping the helmet to her utility belt.
“Taxed as we stepped off the cruiser,” her companion said. “I didn’t think we’d be on the books the minute we landed.” He unzipped the torso of his pressure suit and pointed down the spiral. “C’mon.”
Grace waited for the two to bounce past.
“Need a replay?” Tim asked.
She shook her head and started moving again, the unreported crime driving her forward. Soon there were bright lights ahead: Chamber One, the end of the outer spiral. It had several crawlers getting ready to depart for the firstrise slush run. She recognized some of the roiders. They were talking about a new vein, six kilometers east of Bode-6. Plate wasn’t there. He hadn’t slushed since Charlie.
At the end of the spiral, she chose a spoke and made a sharp left. The PodPooch turned with her, and down they went. This spoke was more crowded than the outer spiral. She slowed to avoid collisions, marveling some of the people she passed.
She’d seen a lot of mechflesh in Bod Town, despite the restrictions Earth law tended to have regarding self-alteration. There was a lot of mechflesh here, too, owing to the nature of jobs on Ceres. She wasn’t seeing anything fashionable or recently-minted, though. Nobody was wearing the newer upgrades she’d seen on Mars, and some of the tech was obviously worn or poorly repaired. The closer she looked, the more she realized that these roiders were just scraping by.
“Are there many competing water operations in the belt?” Grace asked.
“Very few. Ceres slush is the only consistent source of water out here. Unless somebody wants to travel all the way back and forth to Mars.”
“If the slush is so important,” Grace said, “shouldn’t these roiders be rolling in credits?”
She slowed behind a trio of roiders, catching the end of their conversation.
“—subscribed all three of us, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So we’ll get the transmission—when?”
“After midrise.”
“Heh heh. Ready to fly.”
Grace slowed, waiting for them to disappear down the spoke.
“Lee’s bleeding them dry on Ink, isn’t he? And all under the nose of a worthless protector,” she whispered to Tim.
“Possibly, though there are other parameters to consider,” noted Tim. “The cost of living here is high. And historically speaking, miners don’t make the credits corporations do.”
They followed the spiral down, round and round, followed the inner spiral, then pulled back up a spoke to the core. An hour passed. In that time, Grace heard plenty of conversational shards lamenting life on Bode-6. What she didn’t hear, she saw. The two Larchmonts had set up a shadow government for the colony. Few had faith in the clash now, if they ever had. Certainly no hope in the protector.
Grace slowed as they got near Chamber Two. Her arms ached, and sweat dripped down her back. She’d missed sweating. At least now she knew she’d had a good workout. She never perspired with the sleep squeeze.
“Had enough?” Tim said.
“Not quite. I noticed this chamber was empty on the last pass,” she said. “Let’s head inside.”
“Why?”
“I need to practice.”
“Practice what? Is there a reason we’re going into an empty landing zone?” sniffed Tim.
“I need a little room. I want to try something,” she said, pulling into the airlock.
The chamber was mostly empty, except for a few vacuum-safe containers resting against the far wall. Perfect for practice with very little to get in her way.
Grace strode to the center and unclipped her hammer. She held it tight in her right hand and close to her chest. The hammer felt light, but she knew it had more mass than it seemed.
She thrust the hammer forward. Immediately, she went off-balance. Her torso wanted to fly in one direction and her hips and legs wanted to go the opposite.
“Steady on!” Tim barked.
She drew the hammer close, trying to keep her balance, but in the end it was easier to fall and get back up.
“I can see why you needed the extra room,” Tim remarked.
Grace smirked. “I do. I’m a child in this gravity. Since we landed, I’ve watched many roiders gesture with their hammers, and nary a one has fallen.”
She rose and tried another hammer thrust. This time she wobbled but stayed vertical. She grinned at Tim.
“See?”
“Better,” remarked Tim. “But why? Going to try slushing?”
“I need to understand combat here.”
“If you say so,” said Tim, settling on top of a cargo crate.
Grace practiced for two hours. She’d thrust the hammer forward. She’d swing it in graceful arcs. She’d raise it high, and she’d let it swoosh down. She started to understand how her body flowed into new positions. It felt like being underwater. She wouldn’t fight it: she’d just practice on bending.
“Had enough?” Tim asked, for the fifth time.
Grace clipped the hammer to her belt and wiped her face with her sleeve.
“Yeah,” she said. “Had enough, heard enough, seen enough.”
“You look a little angry.”
“Do I?”
“I rather like it when you’re angry,” Tim said. “Marvelous things happen.”
She grinned. “Good. I am angry.”
Grace slid down and rested on the deck of the chamber. Crowds passed outside, their words inaudible. She replayed their landing, Charlie’s death, her frustrated attempts at justice. And finally her argument with Mhau Tapang.
“Let’s go back,” she said. “Time for Mhau to call clash.”
Chapter 13
Jacob Rander opened his eyes at the sound of water. He felt the cool wall of the canyon on his back where he’d fallen asleep in the shade. He rose, rubble crackling beneath his feet, and hiked down the rocky slope toward a narrow river, flowing fast. More than once his boot slid, a spray of rocks preceding him, so he took a leisurely pace, checking his steps.
Green brush along the river was still wet with morning dew. The rushing water foamed, smelled sweet. He looked down into the shallows and caught a shimmer of silver.
Fish!
He wished he had brought his rod. Maybe I did, he thought, and glanced up the hill to where he’d been sleeping. But he didn’t see his rod, though one of the long branches on a nearby tree might serve.
There were two trout now, so bright and close to the surface that he could almost reach down and—
His ptenda pinged.
Jacob looked at his wrist, which was bare. All the same, the world began to dissolve. Audio first: he couldn’t hear the water, but the fish still swam.
Jacob pushed his hand into his pocket, burying the ptenda he could not see. He closed his eyes and the sound of the water returned. The smell. Perhaps if he opened his eyes, he’d be back in the canyon.
The ptenda pinged again.
Jacob clenched his fist and pulled his hand from the pocket. He glared at the ptenda. He was alone in the storage room, his makeshift home since losing his castle to roider loans and Ink payments. No river, no striated canyon walls, no fish like gleaming jewels. The stream was gone from his sleep squeeze, and with it his peace.
In his anger and frustration, he pulled the ptenda from his wrist and threw it away. It hit the door and fell to the ground.
Jacob pinched his eyes shut. Marble Canyon. Please! This time, he’d remember to bring a rod. Those trout were the perfect size. One for him and one for Mhau. If I can just concentrate. Hear the river. Smell its dampness mixed with the dry air. He knelt on the floor, rocking back and forth, pleading for the river to return.
But it didn’t. He heard his breathing, not the swift current. He smelled the stale air and not the tangy verge.
He opened his eyes with a sob. Then, because there was nothing else to do, he crawled toward the door and grabbed his ptenda. Its screen blinked: one hour t
ill the clash.
Jacob sighed. He’d promised Mhau, and he’d broken far too many promises. He pulled a mimic jacket from stowage beside the door. The left side of the garment was streaked in shades of gray while the right side periodically flickered through fabric options. Malfunctioning. He didn’t mind. It felt warm and its psychedelic nature suited his wobbly grasp on reality.
The canyon is real, he thought. Bode-6 is the illusion.
He opened the door and pulled out into the spoke. His arm ached with the unaccustomed movement. From down the tube, he heard a roider chuckle. His clothes? Or maybe his shaky walk. I should just go back. But he thought of Mhau. And he hated his room without Ink.
Jacob imagined the river as he pulled forward. It wasn’t as vivid as Ink, but it helped him focus on the simple task of getting down the spoke. He was relieved there were no further roiders en route. Most of them thought him worthless by now. They were right.
When he pulled up to the mess hall entrance, he found Lee leaning against the wall.
“I thought you’d show up early,” said Lee. “I saw your quota expire and decided to head over.”
Jacob didn’t like the smile on Lee’s face.
“Ready for the vote, so that you can keep your job?” Lee asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I need Ink.”
“Look, mate,” Lee said, gripping Jacob by the shoulder. “I’m not letting you vote the wrong way. Have some guts! Stand up for your job!”
Stand up, Jacob thought. That’s a sick joke.
“Bode-6 needs a protector. That isn’t me.” He wanted to sound strong, but his voice cracked and quavered.
“You really want them to take your last shred of self-respect? If not our protector, who are you?”
“…Nothing,” said Jacob, looking down.
Lee looked at him for what felt like a long time. Jacob felt himself shrink.
“Can’t do it, can you?” Lee stepped back, releasing Jacob’s shoulder. “Knew you had some balls left. Need to relax?”
“Yeah,” Jacob said. “I do.”
“Your time slice won’t be restored until your next payment, but—” Lee rubbed his chin. “I could give you peace of mind before clash starts.”
“Ok, but not too deep,” Jacob said. His fingers trembled.
Lee tapped his ptenda.
The sound of the rapids returned first. Then the canyon loomed behind Lee, the full, yellow sun just cresting above its rim. He breathed in the smell of the water, and smiled. Lee still stood before him, but he knew if he turned around, the river would be there.
“Jacob?”
A voice from his left. Mhau? He looked over his shoulder and saw her pulling toward him. Following her was one of the old roiders—he forgot the man’s name—and a tall, blond woman with intense blue eyes. They seemed to be struggling to make their way along the canyon wall, but the rocky debris slowed them down. He started to walk toward them, but the verge kept getting in his way. He slipped on a stone. The smell of the river was intoxicating and he took a deep breath, relaxing at the sound of the water and the cry of an eagle far above.
He heard Mhau say something, but he couldn’t see her.
The canyon was so very beautiful.
Chapter 14
Mhau cradled a man’s head in her lap. His malfunctioning mimic coat crackled. His eyes were closed beneath his unkept brown hair, his breathing regular. He looked asleep.
“Lost in Ink,” Mhau said.
“Right here, outside the mess?” Plate shook his head. “He’s far gone, ain’t he?”
Mhau shot the roider an angry look. “No. He wouldn’t do this in a public place.”
“He didn’t do this to himself?” Grace asked.
“Lee knew Jacob’s vote was needed in the clash.”
“You think he was drugged,” Grace said.
Plate frowned. “What?”
“Not drugged. Intentionally Inked,” Mhau said, then bit her lip, hard. “We’re going to have to clash without him. I need you—”
“To get him out of here,” Plate said, nodding. He glanced at Grace. “Wouldn’t be the last time I’ve dragged an Inked body out of a spoke,” he told her.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Kyran to see him?” Grace asked.
Mhau shook her head. “I’ve seen him like this before. He’ll be unplugged for hours.”
Grace raised a brow. If Mhau had seen him like this, why did she think he was drugged intentionally?
“Do you know where—” Mhau began, looking up at Plate.
“It’ll be alright,” Plate said. “I’ll find him a locker.”
The big roider bent down and lifted Jacob from the deck.
“Hate to miss a clash,” said Plate. “Especially one that replaces Worthless, here.” He gave them both a nod and headed down the spoke.
Mhau’s fists flexed. She stood without speaking as roiders bobbed past, toe-dragging into the mess hall.
“Jacob will be out for hours?” Grace asked.
Mhau nodded.
“Will clash last that long?”
“No,” Mhau said. “And the vote will be deadlocked. Kyran and I against the Larchmonts.”
“Do you think Lee will actually show, knowing I’ve been hunting him?”
“Yes.”
“When will they arrive?”
“Different times. They make it a point to show up separately,” Mhau said. “As if they were impartial.”
The engineer’s voice was quiet and her eyes were locked on a crack in the wall.
“Worried about Jacob?” Grace asked.
“I shouldn’t be, but I am.”
Mhau turned and went inside the mess hall. Grace followed. The room was filled with roiders, more people than at its highest food rush. Most of the seats were taken, and some roiders were sitting on tables. Grace saw the insignia of several large slusher teams. They’d chosen not to work in order to attend. They cared. She hoped it would be worth their while.
“Time to start. You can probably find a seat near the food counter,” Mhau said, bouncing away.
Grace turned toward the food counter, only to see Lee approaching in her peripheral vision. He wore a disgusting smirk. She toe-dragged to a stop.
“This should be over soon, Donner,” Lee said. “Then you can resume your vacation. Or leave. Dad can get you a transport back to Earth.”
Grace wanted to slap the smile from his face.
“Enjoy your freedom, Lee. For now.”
“Thank you! I’ll do just that.” Lee winked and toe-kicked toward a seat near Mhau.
A flash of Charlie squaring off with Lee erupted clear and bright. Grace, shuddering in anger and loss, pushed left into a throng of spectators, eliciting grumbles. She made her apologies and tethered to a chair in the back, willing the images to go away.
In front of her, Kyran, Mhau, and Lee sat in chairs around a semicircular table. They intermittently touched their ptendas, generally ignoring one another.
Grace wondered how the clash would go. Would they remain civil? Kyran had mentioned that he, Mhau, and Renken often agreed. You can’t disagree with the engineer that’s responsible for the air you breathe. You can’t deal a grudge against the guy who ships the water. The doctor who hates your guts, may one day rescue your guts from dysentery. But Lee was different. There was no real reason for him to be on the council as the roider representative, given that he hadn’t slushed a day in his life. Usually his votes didn’t matter. Today, however, Renken would surely side with his son. And without a protector to break the tie, the clash would be a waste.
Grace’s speculation was interrupted by the crowd’s buzz. An older man had pulled into the room. His head was egg-shaped and hairless, devoid of even eyebrows or the shadow of a beard. He wore a high-collared, natural fiber coat, and had a roider’s hammer attached to his belt and strapped to the leg in a quick release harness. It was clean and silver and almost certainly for show. There was no
smile on his lips, but his eyes were bright and aware. Renken Larchmont.
A handful of well-modified roiders bounced over to him. He shook each by the hand, saying something she couldn’t hear. They laughed and he shed the slightest, confident smile. Then he bounded toward the table of clash members and deftly lashed himself into the center seat.
Grace stirred impatiently as the four clash members shared a brief conversation. Renken gestured at the empty seat on the end and shook his head. Mhau said something and Renken leaned back in his chair for a moment, lips pursed in resignation, fingers intertwined over his chest. Then he leaned forward and addressed the hall.
“Everybody settle down,” Renken said. The room fell quiet.
He looked down at his ptenda. “This clash is out in the open tonight. The primaries of Bode-6 will be discussing the feasibility of hiring bode security, as well as other issues.”
Grace saw Mhau look at Lee, and followed her gaze. He was running his fingers through his hair, grinning at the empty chair where Jacob should have been sitting. Grace was sickened by the display. She began to believe Mhau. Lee had something to do with Jacob’s absence.
“Protector Rander is absent, I see,” said Renken.
The crowd mumbled. Roiders nearby didn’t seem particularly surprised.
“Waste of space,” she overheard.
“The old man will keep Rander,” a young male roider whispered near Grace.
His older companion nodded. “That’s how the game’s run at Bode-6.”
“And the bode runs fine,” the young roider replied.
“We need a protector,” came another voice. Grace couldn’t pinpoint the person, and her eyes drifted back to the clash members, to the empty seat. An obvious reason to hire a new protector as far as the hopefuls in the hall were concerned. The Larchmonts would have to come up with real fancy reasons to vote no. Reasons that would make them look good in front of the roiders they were sucking dry.
“Whatever it is, they’d better not cut the Ink,” a roider said, her braids shaking as if in emphasis.
The roiders around her were loud with their opinions. Grace studied the clash. Renken seemed to be paying attention to the mumbling crowd.