by J. L. Hilton
They could now descend into the maze of interlocking metal halls and genetically modified ecosystems, carefully balanced to support the colony’s growing population. As Genny put her hand on the door, one of her Nana’s sayings came to mind and she recited, “May our troubles be less, and our blessings be more, and nothing but happiness come through our door.”
Mose said, “Amen.”
“That was random,” said Wyatt.
Genny opened the stairwell door and a surge of warm, dank air swept past her. It smelled like a thousand backed-up toilets. She gagged.
“My aunt says you get used to the smell.” Taya pushed past Genny and descended the spiral metal stairs. Wyatt followed.
Genny pulled her perfumed shawl over her head and wrapped one end around her mouth and nose, trying very hard not to breathe through the latter. Mose helped Genny work the cargo for Mary Aileen Madigan down the spiral metal stairs to Level Two and out the door into the public thoroughfare, then returned to her compartments.
As Genny rolled the crate toward Sector I, she passed a cop and a barefoot man wearing vinyl pants and little else.
“You can grow it, you can eat it, you can drink it, you can vaporize it,” said the cop. “I don’t give a great goddamn. But it’s illegal to burn anything, anytime, anywhere inside the colony.”
“I can’t smoke it outside, can I?”
“Don’t be a smartass, colonist.”
A window appeared on the wall of the corridor. An attractive, dark-eyed, tawny-skinned woman announced, “Smoke is detected in this area. Please extinguish all combustibles immediately.” Genny recognized the voice as the one which had welcomed her to Asteria. An avatar for the colony’s automated messages.
“Yeah, I got it.” The cop stomped on the smoldering roach with one large, fire-resistant boot. The uniform was typical of contracted spacecops—a lightweight, fully articulated suit of body armor that was combination riot gear, flak jacket and spacesuit. This one had digital images of the Asteria logo and a police badge glowing from her chest. Her badge number tickered across the top of her helmet. There were also glowing bands of light on her upper arms, showing her rank in Asteria’s civilian police department. “Oxygen violation. Code F1R3-420. Let’s go, Brayden Montero, you’re confined to your compartment with restricted Asternet access for the next forty-eight hours.”
“That sucks,” he protested as he was led away.
“What sucks is you wasting oxygen,” said the cop.
Genny took a detour through the Colony Square, which covered the entirety of Sector M, Level 2. Blocked in on all sides, top and bottom, by colonization modules, the Square was a large open area in the heart of the colony. It was filled with makeshift vendor stalls, gamers, performers, and in the midst of the crowd, people sleeping on the floor.
A pair of Zentai passed by in silence, covered head to toe—including their faces—with form-fitting non-identity suits. She watched them, wondering if their opposition to technology would allow them to be interviewed for her blog. Zentai were outlawed in most countries on Earth.
The stench wasn’t as bad here, mitigated by the abundance of spices, teas and fresh foods for sale. There were also several large fans circulating the air. Genny readjusted her shawl around her shoulders and then regretted it when a filthy man leaned close to speak to her. He had crooked teeth, a wonky eye and smelled like burnt plastic. This would be a colonist Seth referred to as a “relo.”
“Is that for me?” He nudged the crate with his knee.
“I don’t think so.” She checked her bracer for his proximity ID. It said Kathie Ann Stieber-3. Genny doubted this man could have afforded a gender remod if he couldn’t even afford the basic dental, eye or hygiene procedures. The ID was hacked.
“I think it is.” He fiddled with an old handheld device. The name tickering across the top of the crate changed to read Kathie Ann Steiber-3 instead of Mary Aileen Madigan.
“Are you trying to start shit with me?” Genny touched her bracer and armed the shock app. Both of her forearms glowed red. It was a restricted feature—but news bloggers were often in dangerous situations and were allowed to apply for a license to download it.
“Sorry, my mistake,” the man mumbled, darting away through the crowd.
Her eyes followed him as she tagged his locator for the police, and that’s when she saw it. A Glin—an alien—standing on one of the large pipes that crossed the floor. She’d never seen one in real life before. Few people had, except the scientists who studied them about eight or nine years ago. She l’upped more info on her bracer.
The Glin are a humanoid, bipedal, omnivorous, vertebrate, oxygen-breathing extra-terrestrial species with a well-developed neocortex. They were the first intelligent alien life discovered by humanity (the second and only other intelligent species identified to date is Tikati). First Contact was initiated on March 6, 2054, by Dr. Elise Morel and Dr. David Zhu. The Glin are capable of verbal and written language, creative expression, reasoning, problem solving, tool creation and manipulation, religious thought, and aesthetic appreciation. They are tribal hunter-gatherers whose society is based on family units living within village clusters.
Also see Glin (planet)
She bookmarked the rest to read later and checked the public netcams, hoping to post a link on her blog. But he did not appear on any of the live feeds available from the square. Well, damn. She sent a quick note to tell Seth he needed to put some more netcams in the Colony Square, too, if he got a chance.
Using the camera on her bracer, she lifted her arm and zoomed in on the alien. Activating the sound enhancement, she could hear him through her earrings. Him. She assumed he was male. He had a deep voice and a humanlike masculinity, with a broad forehead, square jaw and long, narrow nose.
“One thing you need to understand,” said the alien, “is that when Tikat has taken every lake and river from Glin, when it has finished stealing that which is most sacred and necessary to our existence, it will turn to Asteria. We must unite and stand against them before this happens.”
“Fuck off, frog!” yelled a colonist.
The Glin did have an amphibian-like appearance. His face was pale, but the sides and back of his hairless head were speckled in shades from taupe to grayish-green. He had no visible ears; his eyes were large and dark, all iris and little white. He wore a form-fitting garment similar in shape and texture to a wetsuit, but in pieces—pants, shirt and vest. An iridescent shimmer rippled on its surface when he moved.
“When Tikat invaded my world, when they took away my family, I swore to the Great Ocean that I would devote my life to the freedom of my people,” said the Glin.
“Then go home!” yelled a colonist who looked like he hadn’t eaten or bathed in a long time. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“How I wish I could rest,” said the Glin. “But I cannot rest while there is no hope for peace. Now is time for action.”
Before signing the relocation contract, Genny read everything she could find about Asteria, its binary star system, its tidally locked rotation, its lack of atmosphere, its beginnings as a research outpost. But she knew nothing at all about a war between the alien races. She turned off her camera and searched the Asternet for more information. All of the articles and files about Glin were several years old. The vids were even older. She l’upped Tikat on the Asternet.
The planet TIKAT is home to the TIKATI, an intelligent invertebrate alien species, thought to be similar to arthropods (insects, arachnids, crustaceans), but capable of verbal and written language. It was thought to be uninhabited until September 2055 when underground settlements were discovered.
There was very little additional information. Attempts to study Tikat ceased after several researchers died. It was assumed that Earth ships were ill-equipped to navigate the unusual atmosphere and to deal with the flaring of the star around which Tikat revolved. This and other factors, such as the Kerala Flu scare and a drop in funding, led to the abandonment of Asteria for
a few years.
“’Lo, Genny,” said a voice from her arm. Seth appeared on her bracer.
“’Lo, Seth.”
“I’m sorry about earlier. Tessaro is an asshole. Why you in the market? Do you need anything?”
“I’m on my way to an Irish pub.”
“Aileen’s?” She wasn’t surprised he knew about it. Their vague, Irish-American sense of connection to the leprechaun-infested land of their ancestors was one of the things they had in common. Seth had the Air & Space Force emblem tattooed on one arm, and a shamrock knot on the other. “I’ll meet you there.” His window was replaced by a small map. A moving dot indicated his location in relation to hers.
“See you.” She dropped her arm, ending the call. Before she left the square, she moved a little closer to the Glin, until she could hear him without using her earrings.
“If we wish to be free—if we mean to preserve these privileges and not abandon the noble struggle in which we have, both our races, been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon—the cause of liberty—we must fight together.”
Would she be breaking the story of this war to the Solar System? Omigod, that would put her blog in the INC Star 20.
A priority chime sounded from her bracer, and this time she saw the rugged face of Colonel Blaze Villanueva, the officer in charge of the military zone. At a glance, he looked to be in his late thirties, which wasn’t much older than Genny. But she knew from reading his bio on the Stellarnet that he had to be at least twenty years older. The officer’s true age was hinted in the strands of steel gray in his sable hair and the creases in the corners of his ice blue eyes, but he’d obviously had a few cellular regenerations.
“Genevieve O’Riordan, welcome to Asteria. How are you settling in?”
“Fine, thank you, Colonel.”
“You’re a civilian. Call me Blaze.”
“A’ight, Blaze. Call me Genny.”
“I would welcome you in person, but we’re trying to contain some biotech-resistant strain of E. coli in sector B, and there was a broken sewage processor flooding Q. It smells like hell on a hot Saturday night down there, let me tell you.”
“No problem.”
“My staff are at your disposal. I’ll do my damnedest to be available, but I tend to be busier than a three-legged sheepdog.”
“I understand.”
“I suppose you’re determined to dig up something out here like the space station safety scandal. Yeah, I read your blog posts about that. Just do me one favor, will you?” He went on without waiting for her to accept or decline. He was a man used to being listened to. “You find anything serious, anything at all, out here on Asteria, and you let me know before it goes online. That’s the deal. I don’t want to open my queue and get hit with a corrupt comptroller or a surprise visit from General Ostberg or something. I’m not telling you what you can and can’t blog, but at least give me some notice on the serious shitola so I don’t look like a total asshat. Fair enough?”
“Yes, Blaze.” She agreed it was fair, from his perspective, but that didn’t mean she would comply. “So, can you explain why there’s a Glin giving St. Crispin’s Day speeches in the center of the colony?”
“Oh, you’ve seen him, have you?”
“And there’s a war?”
“Don’t get all riled up. I’m still sorting him out. Look, why don’t you have dinner with me and a few of my airwing captains tonight? You won’t feel so alone out here, or worried about raving aliens.”
“I’m not alone. One of your Airmen is a friend of mine.”
“Which one?”
“Senior Airman Seth MacGowan, with the 795th Comm Squad.”
“Lucky bastard. Bring him along.” An invite and a map appeared on her display.
After the convo, she updated her status to Having dinner with Colonel Blaze Villaneuva with a link to the colonel’s long public bio.
The alien was still regaling his unreceptive audience. “We face a formidable adversary, but when shall we be any stronger? Next week? Next year? When the Glin are destroyed, relocated, starving, or dead? Shall we acquire the means of effective resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope until our enemies have bound us hand and foot?”
“I’d like to bind you hand and foot,” called out a man selling salad greens. “Shut up, you’re hurting business.”
The Glin addressed the vendor. “Business? It is the business of every decent individual to interfere with cruelty and oppression wherever they find it.”
For a moment, the orbs of his dark gray eyes met hers, and she looked away. It was uncanny, knowing that she was so close to someone who was not from Earth. No alien had ever visited the solar system. Yet he spoke her language. How did that happen?
Genny noticed Seth’s dot nearing the pub, so she headed to Sector I. Despite being so close to the bustle of the Colony Square, the public thoroughfares in Sector I were quiet.
One burly man in a long brown coat and battered flat cap leaned on the wall and ignored her until she walked past him. “Where you headed?” he asked. The tone wasn’t threatening but she wouldn’t call it friendly, either.
“I’ve got a delivery from Earth.” Her hand drifted to the 9-1-1 and shock apps on her bracer. “And I’ve had enough grief over it.”
The man chuckled. “No good deed goes unpunished, does it?” He glanced at the crate, which was displaying the correct name and address again. Without a word, he jerked his head for her to follow him to block I-55.
“Owen,” he said, when he saw her glance at her bracer for a proximity ID and none appeared. “And yourself?”
“Genevieve O’Riordan, with INC.”
The wall outside the pub was covered with a morphing Celtic knot pattern in which the word Aileen’s appeared and disappeared. Owen opened the door for her and then returned, she assumed, to his post.
The pub was a colonization block like hers, but with one big room instead of separate compartments. Vids and slideshows of Irish dancers, musicians and pub goers, nostalgic “Ireland-that-was” pics, various Irish flags, maps and other statistics for Irish cities covered the walls. And there was music, but it came from human beings on the stage.
She updated her ticker. Aileen’s Pub has live Irish music on traditional instruments.
A woman with shining silver hair and eyes stepped out from behind the bar.
Genny glanced at her bracer for a proximity ID. This was Mary Aileen Madigan, the pub’s namesake. “I just got in from Oberon Station and I’ve got something for you.”
Aileen smiled her thanks. “You didn’t have to drag it all the way across hell’s half-acre.”
“I wanted to see what hell looked like, now that I’m a resident.”
As Aileen opened the box, the musicians stopped playing and gathered to watch.
“Is that what I think it is?” asked the fiddler. Her bracer ID’d him as Danny Slane. He looked haggard in the way of those who’d never had a regeneration. He probably wasn’t much older than Genny.
The crate was packed with bottles of Bushmills whiskey in custom-fitted foam packaging. Aileen handed Genny the first bottle. “Here, have one for your trouble.”
“No, you don’t have to do that.” A bottle of whiskey all the way from Earth had to be worth at least six thousand units.
“Have it,” Aileen insisted. “That’s the way things work out here. We’ve got to take care of each other. No one else will.” Aileen waved the whiskey bottle over her arm. The label on the bottle changed color from black to red and began tickering Genny’s name.
Danny nodded toward the door. “Is that MacGowan? ’Sup, you lousy bastard?” he asked cheerfully.
Seth had replaced his Air & Space Force uniform with a pair of sim-leather pants and a skin-hugging digital T-shirt with a dragon graphic that prowled over his chest and biceps. He ignored Danny and gathered Genny into an enthusiastic embrace. “Oh, my god, Genny. It’s good to
see you again.”
“You’re doing more than seeing her,” said Danny.
“Go play your fiddle,” Seth suggested.
“Ah, yes, story of my life,” Danny sighed. “The most nimble fingers in the universe, but always playing with myself.”
“I missed you.” Seth breathed the words into her ear with a sincerity that surprised and flattered her. The gen-mod that made his skin smell like the outdoors—fresh air, pine and lavender—brought to mind the hours they’d spent in her berth on the Google space station Perspective. She’d missed him, too.
Chapter Two
Seth walked her back to her compartment after dinner. “I’m going to get a ration of shit from my sergeant.”
“For what?” Genny pulled out her data key and opened the door to her block’s private hallway. The door chimed and Seth followed her inside.
“For spending three hours with the Old Man, and my squad having to cover for me.”
“I’m sorry, Blaze thought I was all alone out here and I told him I wasn’t. I didn’t think he would invite you to dinner.”
“I’ll be pulling triple shifts to make up for it.”
She hugged his arm, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Maybe you should go to work then?”
“No, I said I’d help you move all those boxes. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
At her compartment door, she used the data key again. Inside, she touched her bracer to trigger the lights, which glowed from the ceiling. More than half of the cargo was gone.
“What the hell?”
“Check your hall cam,” Seth suggested, and she was already on it. He began relocating the remaining crates into the hallway.
She l’upped the archive and saw members of both the Air & Space Force and the colony police letting themselves in and rolling crates away. “That’s crap,” she said. “They didn’t even email me a notice or anything, they just let themselves in. Do you think Blaze sent them?”