The Storm Fishers and Other Stories

by Everitt Foster

punched Quark in the shoulder.

  “I thought math would be get me into physics, maybe even the core.”

  “I’m sorry brother. But maybe you can transfer in when one of the second years leaves in a few months.”

  Quark shook his head and swigged his beer taking the last drop and belching like a geologist at field camp. Those in the immediate area turned and raised a cup to Quark. “Fill ‘er up and show me around.”

  They wandered the halls, dodging boys and girls listening to sCasts downloaded from the shortband. “Lately it’s been a great way to discover new bands. It’s hard to get new music in the deep. That’s what they say anyway.”

  Azure and crimson shot across the ceiling drawing the colors of Terran dawn. “Have you ever seen anything like that?” Brine said.

  “I’ve heard about it.”

  “That’s my design,” said a woman behind them. As Quark turned around she swigged her drink to hide her eyes. Her smile shone past the glass, giving away her pride and maybe something more thought Quark.

  “This is Quark, I’m Brine, and we’re from Faraday. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Andromeda. I went to Roger Bacon. Math and physical engineering. I don’t have an assignment yet, just a department.” Andromeda had dark hair slightly past her shoulders and eyes to match. Her smile was a little bit crooked, which gave her a girlish appearance, and hiding her mind. She squinted a little and slipped on a trendy pair of blue glasses showing off her alma mater. Quark seemed confused for a moment and realized she must have attended on a research grant, just like other rural students.

  “Oh so you had no idea what you wanted to do.” Brine laughed, looked at the sunrise and before she could retort, “You’re a little bit inspired me thinks. So what’s your opinion of the brew? Because I made that.”

  “I like it,” she swayed her shoulders and flipped her hair the way women did in the movies.

  “We both made it actually. Well he brewed this batch, but we came up with the recipe together. We’ve got a whole menu full actually.”

  “That’s true. Wait, where is it? Hue and cry I didn’t bring it with me.”

  “It’s up in my room!” said Quark before he realized the implications of his words.

  Brine winked in a kind of collegiate Morse Code. It was a familiar ritual dating back to science lecture mixers. Quark sighed and said, “Maybe we can hang out after work tomorrow.”

  “Aww where are you going?”

  “Who is this?” The three turned around. An older man stood rocking back and forth, hands in pockets. He wore a banana colored shirt and olive slacks. Gray brushed his temples and speckled his beard like a dilat fruit without needles. He reached out to each in turn and introduces himself, “I’m your resident adviser for core team Faraday-Bacon. Ali Ibrahimzade. And to answer your next question. Yes, I’m Terran. But don’t let that fool you. My brain works just fine.” After learning his identity the three uttered an obligatory laugh, even if they didn’t believe a man that young ran the ship’s core. “So where were we, and can I have a drink?”

  “Oh, this is Quark. He’s from up in um-”

  “Robotic accounting.”

  “Really?” Brine said with a little extra pity this time.

  The others made their introductions, including several eavesdroppers. “Quark was about to go upstairs and get ready for the first day.”

  “Well, actually, I’m trying to figure out what it is that a guy’s gotta do to get assigned to the core team sir.”

  “Oh I’m not so sure a mixer is the best place to talk business. Maybe another time.” By the time Quark turned around Brine was scooting through the crowd, his arm around Andromeda. He turned back to Ibrahimzade who had also vanished. He spun around and saw not a familiar, or even friendly, face.

  As Quark walked toward the elevator, he looked up and shouted to nowhere, “Brine. Let’s experiment with raisonberry brew this week. Bet it would go over great!” A short moment passed; the bell chimed and the doors opened and before they closed he saw a hand shoot up and heard Brine’s voice shout back, “You bring the berries and I’ll bring the love!”

  When Quark returned to his room there was a message waiting for him. He clicked on his inbox’s accept button and saw his mother and father wave and smile.

  “Hey son, we’ve gotta say sorry about missing ye send off, but you know how the machines can get ‘round harvest time. And plantin’ time.” His mother interjected, “We hope you’ll stay safe and send us a line when you’re in range of a transmitter.” His father came back, “They don’t need transmitters on that station. The whole thing is a transmitter.” She shook her head, “We wanted to tell you to keep an eye on the post. We sent you something and I hope you’ll enjoy it. All our love and all our pride.”

  The message faded and Quark rolled into bed without shutting down his tablet.

  Quark dug through his unpacked bags, unintentionally unpacking them into every corner of his bedroom, on and under his bed, behind his desk and over his antique bookshelf until he found a quantum drive. He plugged in his quanta reader connected his holokeyboard and mouse as the drive was being read. On the screen a little blinking pair of eyes and a smile. Quark smiled back and said, “Hello Poly.”

  “Hello! Where have you been?”

  POLYMATH had been his information year project at Faraday. He called her a she, though she was properly an it. When a man sits at home every night eventually the longing for companionship overtakes the brain and he names his algorithm. The name came from his collection of antique silvergraphs of the gentlemen scientists from the nineteenth century. The family had a storage house for seeds and machinery which Quark thought, at least since he could draw constellations in the night sky, the upper floor would make a fine home for his father’s telescope. The lower floor could be used for storage, if he still needed self-funding by the time he was old enough.

  Poly sighed and said, “You look depressed. Were you not assigned to the core?”

  “Are you disappointed?” he said. She gave him a heart-to-code talk, the way she had so often done.

  “To be perfectly honest, my programming was less adapted to the core than to general accounting. And robotics should be fascinating.”

  “How so?”

  “A girl gets lonely when she has to talk to her maker, her maker’s friends and that half-logical housing program. Not that you’re not a wonderful maker, but can you not appreciate this opportunity? If not for you, then what about me? What about your mom and dad?”

  “I’ll be alright tomorrow. That much I know.”

  He turned off his light, cleared his bed and pulled the covers over his head. “Good night, Q.” she said.

  If the stars could look through the black and witness a frigate moving at what is, from its frame of reference a remarkably high speed, they would see ‘The Black Bird’ hull at the mid deck arched in the shape of a horseshoe nearly bisecting the frigate. And upon closer inspection the stars would watch as smaller transport vessels docked like a dart flying through the black, hitting a bullseye ten thousand miles away. On the landing deck giant DOCS, docking and collection systems, shook the deck as they thundered toward the edge of the ship. Quark stood on the mezzanine gripping the handrail to retain balance as the DOCS passed beneath.

  The dock held the transports in rows and columns allowing the ASR23s, accounting and sorting robots, twenty-third generation, to hover silently on magnetic rails buried beneath the deck. The ASRs were sterile white with color coded bases, which Quark quickly realized were blue for loading, red for unloading. The far corners of the deck held crates with unfamiliar markings stacked like pillars supporting the hanger.

  Men and women moved between the bots avoiding the half-aware of their surroundings machines. Following the arch around the mezzanine and rising three stories above it was a tinted acrylic window. Quark saw human shadows moving like perlait moths in summer, pollinating the buds for harvest.

  “Quill?
Quark Quill?” said a gentle voice echoing, from where he could not see.

  “Above you.”

  A man in his late thirties wearing a fitted cotton midnight blue suit with ash colored pinstripes and similarly colored shoes descended on a hovering platform. The hovercraft slowed blowing Quark’s hair back and when coming to a rest leaving his hair looking like he’d been caught in a Martian spring windstorm. The man reached out to shake Quark’s hand. He had unweathered pale hands, the kind scientists and engineers never had.

  “I’m so glad you were assigned to us. You were my top choice from all Faraday. Did they tell you that?”

  “You’re the dock manager,” Quark said finishing the handshake.

  “I am indeed. Step on and I’ll take you to control.”

  “I’m so excited I almost forgot my own name! Argon Redbrast. They call me Argie. We’re all on good terms here. Did I mention how much I’ve been waiting to meet you? Haa Ha - yes!”

  Quark felt embarrassed by the attention. Redbrast’s hands induced for a moment a longing for the core; a wondering what Brine and the Nuggets and Andromeda were doing at that moment. Probably conducting novel experiments under the inspiring guidance of Doctor Ibrahimzade. The praise wiped away the litost and Quark looked where Redbrast pointed. Below, the ASRs collected the golden crates with black lettering and loaded them on each ship carefully.

  “Do you know what they’re doing Q?”

  He shook