by J. F. Holmes
Ryan got up and walked out, ignoring O’Neill. Agostine followed her out into the front office and slipped Brit the credit chip, and her eyes widened at the amount.
“What’s this for?” she asked.
The mercenary captain looked at the doorway the citizen had just walked out of and said, “Not everyone who wears the blue is a bad guy, Brit.”
To himself, he said, I would have done it for free.
___________________
J.F. Holmes is a retired Army Senior Noncommissioned Officer, having served for 22 years in both the Regular Army and Army National Guard. From 2010 to 2014 he wrote the immensely popular military cartoon strip, "Power Point Ranger", poking fun at military life in the tradition of Beetle Bailey and Willy & Joe.
His books range from Military Sci-Fi to Space Opera to Detective to Fantasy, with a lot in between, and in 2017 two were finalists for the prestigious Dragon Awards. He lives in Upstate NY and is alternately scorched and frozen to death, sometimes on the same day.
One Fish, Two Fish
by Scott Bascom
___________________
Present Day
Corwin walked into the entry area.
It went from low, sloping ceilings and tight walls, to what almost felt agoraphobic after so many hours in flight.
There was padding on the floor and the walls, so as he exited the spacecraft, the change in gravity didn’t get to him too much. The rubbery handholds built into the walls made it easy to grip, and the crowd guides seemed to help with the exit, but it was like walking off one carnival ride onto another.
Bending at the knees slightly, he stretched his arms out in each direction, as if he was imitating an airplane. Slowly, he stretched out every single muscle that had been cramped from sitting for the last twelve hours. You’d think after hundreds of years of air and then space travel, humanity would have found a better solution than simply forcing passengers to sit there in uncomfortable seats when there were technical difficulties. And when the bathrooms broke, the answer was still to offer free drinks.
At least he still had his carry-on. His luggage was somewhere near the moon, at a transfer station. He’d be lucky if he ever saw it again.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Holding his duffel bag with one hand, he wandered over to the information kiosk. It was actually a screen projected onto the live rock outcropping, and you could see the texturing of the native stone beneath the projection of the station map.
His fingers slowly traced the station map, starting with the “you are here” marker, and eventually making their way to the fish tank.
Nodding to himself, he paused for a moment and weighed his options. They’d fed him, and he’d even had a chance to use the bathroom before it had broken, so that wasn’t urgent, but it might be a good idea to find someone who could tell him about good place to get a bite to eat. He had no idea if his contact would actually be able to help.
Shrugging mentally, he decided to make his way to meet his contact and hope that something on this trip would actually go well for him. This far out in the boonies, it was unlikely anyone was still looking for him, but it was entirely possible.
Time to find out.
***
The interior of the pet shop was specially designed to allow a bit of noise and smell from the cages at all times. Unless the animals were asleep, a visitor could hear the rustling of leaves as a gecko slid between them, the sweet sounds of birdsong, or the crunching, grinding sounds of rabbits and mice chewing on their food.
You couldn’t allow too much, of course. That would sound bad, and drive away customers. The counter-controlled sound machines that kept the noise down constantly sampled the ambient noise levels, and kept them at a comfortable human norm for easy conversation. Even the occasional bird that decided he wanted to assert dominance or territory was only a soft crooning compared to the earsplitting screech it would be without them. The smells were kept under control by similar equipment that ran silently, and used an old-fashioned carbon filter and HEPA setup.
Even the lighting was kept controlled. Toward the front, with the tropical birds and various animals, it had a daylight spectrum in order to make the colors pop more. Even the colors of the live plants that were kept on hand for display were more vibrant that way.
As you entered the store, though, you saw the register and the rodent cages behind it. On rare occasions, they had a cat or a dog, or even a monkey, but far more often they kept rabbits, rats, guinea pigs and so on in modular cages, each with its own lighting and airflow. The scents intermingled and overflowed slowly into the rest of the store, but the complex systems of fans and vents generally worked to keep the scents at bay. The lighting was adjusted as appropriate, to display the brilliant coloration of various animals, and occasionally to show off special features, such as glowing in the dark, or under blacklight.
In the back however, were the fish tanks.
Mostly freshwater, the constant sound of trickling water could be heard even over the sound scrubbers. Each tank was lined up so you could see it from the outside, but so its inhabitants couldn’t see their neighbors. Every single tank had backgrounds drawn from artistic landscaps, and filled with fantasy. The displays were networked, and occasionally mermaids would flow from one tank to another one, or interact with the fish – convincing them to follow a red dot, or just a swim along. Most of the tanks had plant life, each appropriate to the kind of fish in it to avoid having the plants eaten, or the fish killed unexpectedly.
In the very far back was a fish tank of several thousand gallons on display, with over a dozen different kinds of fish in it, and massive caves made of things that looked like sunken treasure held by a kraken that appeared to be fighting off a submarine, or the skull of a dragon, large enough that a toddler could use it as a step stool, and bone-white despite the various algae deposits in parts of the tank.
It had its own ecosystem, with predators and prey, and epic battles were fought on a reader basis. Bright yellow fish with boxy jaws and close to the body fins that were black with an electric yellow tinge at the edge defended territory from fish with iridescent blue scales that looked like somebody had taken prizefighters and turned them into fish. Large, bony-looking bottom feeders with dark dorsal fins that looked like a ship sails, but with a bright white fringe, would snuffle through the gravel and the sand at the bottom, looking for morsels, dropped tidbits, or the decomposing remnants of the losers of those fights.
From the front outside the shop, all you could see was the sign, “The Fish Tank”. Several goldfish dressed in antique military regalia rode in what appeared to be a main battle tank from late in the twentieth century.
Corwin stared at the front of the store, a dubious expression on his face. Was this actually supposed to be a member of the resistance? Was he about to be stuck, or even turned in?
He’d entrusted them this far, and it had probably kept him out of jail, at least. Actually, given what had happened to several of his relatives, they may have kept him alive.
Only one way to find out.
***
Julian was hand feeding the budgies. There was no specific order in for any, but there was an ever-popular set of colors that matched the mining equipment used. For some reason, having a budgie in black and yellow or crimson and black, so it looked like it had been manufactured by a tool company, was popular with the miners.
As he was hand feeding them, he tried to make sure each of them got time learning to perch on the shoulder and fingers. Those little personal touches tended to make a difference, and people bought pets for companionship.
A young-looking man of middling height walked into the store, holding a duffel bag. He looked like he’d just gotten off a long flight, which was a little odd. What very few tourists actually stopped by this armpit of a station tended to check into the hotel and freshen up while waiting between flights. If they stopped by the pet shop, it was after they’d checked out f
or the day, but before their flight left. If he was a new mining engineer, Julian would’ve expected him to have checked into quarters and dropped off his duffel bag. He looked too young and inexperienced to be one of the actual miners, not to mention far too clean-cut. Short brown hair topped his face, with striking, blue-green eyes.
The man looked at Julian and froze. Julian raised his eyebrows and gently dissuaded a budgerigar from nibbling on his earlobe.
“Can I help you?”
The man stuttered for a moment, and nodded. “I think I might be in the wrong place. I’m looking for a woman?”
Julian sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Mom! There’s someone here for you.” The birds perching on and around him twittered and whistled in surprised reaction.
You’d think the dates she picked up would be smarter than this. Especially if one was coming in from outsystem.
His mother rounded the corner, brushing blonde hair from her eyes. She was wearing a “planet splat” T-shirt, complete with bald-headed and ear-stalked mascot. Her skirt was a plain blue denim with extra pockets stitched into it.
Julian gritted his teeth slightly and closed his eyes. She really should be wearing the uniform, if for no other reason than that it was much more stain resistant and didn’t pick up smells as easily. He’d have to talk to her again.
The young man turned to his mother. “Are you Arwen?”
She blinked. “Yes. Can I help you?”
The young man walked up to her and extended a hand. “I’m Corwin.”
She shook his hand with a puzzled expression.
“I was told you could help me.”
She shook her head slowly. “We have a special on rodents right now?” she said in a questioning tone.
Corwin shook his head. “No, weren’t you told I was coming?”
Her eyes went wide with recognition. “Ah.”
Corwin gave a nervous glance to Julian, and then back to Arwen. “Can we talk in private?”
Arwen’s eyes met Julian’s, and he gave her a slight nod. She gestured to Corwin, and he followed her to the back. Next to the display fish tank at the back of the store was a hidden doorway covering a circular stairway with triangular stairs.
The walls were rough-cut stone, unpolished. No sharp edges, but very clearly just cut enough to allow the stairs to go in. The handholds were set directly into the wall. As his shoes’ hard rubber soles tapped against the steel of the stairs, Corwin looked around. It appeared to go at least one level down, possibly two, and up at least two levels.
“We have a little apartment above the shop. It actually has an entry on one of the residential levels, but I don’t know when we last used the front door.”
Corwin continue to try to look around in order to avoid looking directly ahead. As nice as the view was, it seemed rude to stare. She didn’t look old enough to have a son Julian’s age, and seemed almost distracted, as if something was going on in the back of her head constantly.
The door at the top of the stairs was anything but hidden. It appeared to be made from actual wood, and had carvings all along the frame. Lighting set around the frame came to life as Arwen approached it, showing off the intricate details – Koi swimming around, each one with its own pattern of scales. There appeared to be intricate designs laid into the wood, with each panel of the door appearing to be bordered in various materials – stone or bamboo – and wavy lines that made it seem as if the door was flowing with water. Mother of pearl glimmered from scales, as did copper-engraved holographs, and even what looked like stainless steel.
Arwen stopped to look at the door, and with her hand on the knob, looked back at Corwin. “My husband was good with his hands, and it was always his dream to own a shop like this.”
The apartment inside was small and tidy. Gray carpet with white walls and black, comfy-looking couches. He could see the kitchen from where he stood, and a hallway off to the side.
Arwen gestured to one of the couches. “Sit down, and explain. I wasn’t expecting you for another few days, and I don’t really know what to think of you in the first place.”
Corwin swallowed. “Don’t you need to know the passphrase?”
Arwen shrugged. “If you were secret police, you’d be nowhere near this nervous. And you’d have taken a shower before showing up.”
Corwin stared for a moment.
Arwen sighed and rolled her eyes. “Good hunting to all who keep the jungle law. Do you feel better now?”
Corwin nodded.
“Now sit down.”
He sat obediently. He wouldn’t have thought so, but even after all the time on that transport, it was nice to sit down again. Probably being in a space that was large enough for him to move his arms around made the difference.
“Now, talk.”
Looking at the petite blonde woman in front of him, Corwin found himself somewhat intimidated, which was not what he expected.
“Where do you want me to start?”
“First, how did you get involved with this? Second, why did they send you here? And last, what am I supposed to do with you?”
Corwin looked lost for a moment, and unconsciously grabbed the duffel bag tightly. The totality of his worldly possessions were in there, given how unlikely it was he’d ever see his luggage again.
“I was almost placed under arrest for political dissidence at the University. Someone at the dean’s office was sympathetic to the colonial resistance and managed to get me out.” He swallowed at the memory, and his back ached from the memory of the secret police beating him.
“They actually caught me at a political rally. I hadn’t really planned to attend, but it happened, and I was only there…” He drifted off into memory.
Arwen had taken a seat across from him on the other couch. She’d grabbed a stepstool from the kitchen to use as a foot rest, and was watching him with crossed arms. She made a “go on” gesture with one hand.
“I was told that this was one of the best places for someone with my skill set. I have a nearly complete degree in mechanical engineering, with an emphasis in process design. I don’t know what the resistance would want with that,” he made helpless gesture as he spoke, “but I’m here, and I can’t really go back.”
“I have no idea what you’re supposed to do with me. I was told you have a job for me to do, and that you’d know.”
Arwen stared at him for a moment. He could see the gears in her head turning as she decided what to do with him. Hopefully, it wasn’t how to dispose of him without causing too much of a fuss. He’d never been a hard-core political dissenter before, but as far as he knew, they tended to be fairly scary people.
The silence and the moment stretched on to an uncomfortable extent. He was actually feeling drowsy from how comfortable the couch was and his long trip. He hadn’t eaten anything, and was having to fight to keep from drifting off to sleep without meaning to.
When Arwen spoke, it was a jolt.
“I need to make a fish tank.”
Corwin stared stupidly at her.
“More specifically, I need you to help me with the project that will free the colonies from food dependence on Earth.”
Against his will, his eyebrows rose.
Arwen continued.
“I am, by trade, a genetic engineer. When my husband told me he wanted a pet shop, we’d hoped I’d be able to use my profession to give us an edge with exotic pets.
“We moved to this mining colony after he fell out of political favor back on Earth. We ended up finding a fair clientele base here, and made our living out on the fringe of civilization.”
Corwin could see Arwen’s eyes watering. They were framed by her long, curly blonde hair.
“About four years ago, he was in an accident. We’d gotten here not that long before, but we already seemed to have another client base to support ourselves.”
Arwen stopped long enough to wipe her eyes using one hand.
“He died saving someone from explosive decom
pression. He didn’t make it out in time, even though it looked like he should have been able to.”
Arwen shrugged and rubbed her nose, sniffing. “It wasn’t really anybody’s fault; these things just happen.”
There was a growing pit of fear in Corwin’s stomach, gnawing at his intestines. Genetic engineers were typically carefully watched out for in the colonies.
“The whole incident was as a result of us not being allowed to produce our own spare parts, or keep enough on hand.”
Her arms crossed in front of her as she spoke, as if to perform a role as a protective barrier.
“Thankfully, when we moved out here, my husband and I covered our tracks fairly well. I don’t think the central government is even aware I’m still alive.
“We’d already agreed to take this on, and without my husband, I felt like I had to keep doing it. I even went into debt to buy the machine. It’s taken several years for Rusty get to where we are now, and this project depends that I carry it through. Many people have sacrificed much to get to this point.”
Corwin was unable to contain himself any longer. “So where do I come in? I don’t think a mechanical engineer can do much at a pet store. And I have absolutely no idea how it would help you to provide a food supply for the colonies.”
Arwen took a moment to compose herself and looked him directly in the eyes. “I have an unlicensed genetic editor.”
“Oh.”
The consequences of that were certain death if they were caught, possibly preceded by torture. Creating plants or other foods that were immune to the various microbes used on the colonies’ food stocks was a capital offense.
“All I need your help with is getting it running.”
Definitely with torture.
Corwin sat and absorbed it all for a moment. It was a lot to take in, going all the way back to his being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and getting stuck in with the colonial resistance.
“You’re probably going to want to shower and freshen up. There’re spare towels in the cupboard marked ‘Towels’ next to the bathroom. We were going to do dinner in about an hour, and if you’d like to, you can join us.”