Been There, Done That

by Mackey Chandler

  The building wasn’t open yet so they walked around. On the other side her family was set up to sell. Her mom and grandma were seated in lawn chairs behind a tarp, her grandpa standing behind them, not her dad. That was exactly the opposite of what she expected if there was anyone there from her family.

  Vic looked carefully over his shoulders, both ways.

  “He’s not here,” her grandpa informed Vic, knowing who he was looking for. “He said it was too risky to leave the place empty, that someone should stay and guard it, because people will know so many of us will be coming here.”

  Rather than express disbelief of those motives Eileen just said, “Good.” That got a hostile look from her grandfather, but no reaction from the women. Eileen half expected them to pick an argument with her but it didn’t happen.

  “Here are your things I promised I’d bring,” her mom said, and waved at a surprisingly big duffel bag.

  “Thank you. I do appreciate that, and I’m surprised you could bring that much along when you had to carry trade goods too. I’m not saying it to start a fight, but I wasn’t sure dad would let anybody come.”

  “He wasn’t thrilled to send us off,” her mom admitted, “but we have some things we really need to buy. Your grandpa made a sort of a three wheel cart out of an extended wheelbarrow and the two wheel cart we carried stuff on from the truck. He locked it up to a tree with a chain, back by our tent, because everybody who saw it has tried to buy it. We got tired of telling them no before we could move on to any other business.”

  Eileen was softening a little, getting ready to politely ask if they were making any sales, and her grandma spoiled it.

  “So, are you pregnant yet?”

  It wasn’t said kindly, like a grandma interested in getting grandchildren. It was said with snippy disapproval. Even her mom looked unhappy at it.

  “That isn’t… isn’t going to be, any of your business,” Eileen said. “Vic, would you get my bag please, and let’s go.”

  He nodded, walked around and put the bulky duffel over a shoulder. The hostile exchange didn’t leave Eileen wanting to say thank you again, but Vic was so polite he gave her mom a courteous nod before he turned away. Her granddad stood like a statue through the whole thing.

  Chapter 17

  Linda Pennington arrived at work early before the manager Detweiler went home. He’d be tired after working, but she decided that was better than trying to go in at the start of his shift when he’d be impatient to get things sorted out.

  She felt even less secure than normal, and she never normally felt all that secure. That went back into things she didn’t even remember in her childhood, and the chances of her ever investing the time and effort with a real professional to discover them was about nil. The fact that she was actively creating most of her own insecurity now did not find the tiniest nook in her mind.

  Having a job and a paycheck was one of the few things contributing to her positive feelings of security. If she was able to improve that part of her situation it would be to the good. She had held back from doing so awhile because she didn’t want to jeopardize what she already had by trying to improve it. Detweiler seemed a decent and reasonable boss, and she didn’t think he’d see any attempt to improve herself as an expression of dissatisfaction. Her very unsatisfactory conversations with both the Head of Security, Jon, and her husband, Mo, tipped her over the edge to speak up.

  Mr. Detweiler was seated at the bar examining his pad, but when she came up he courteously flipped it screen down and gave her his full attention. “Ah, Mrs. Pennington, what may I do for you?”

  “I’m very happy with what I have been doing for you, cleaning, but I realize there is a limit what you need to pay for cleaning services. I don’t want to badger you for higher wages, but I wonder if there is anything else I could do for the club that would improve my circumstances? Is there any need for office work or even something in the kitchen I could do that would pay better and be as secure for the future I’d be very interested.”

  “There are several possibilities,” Detweiler allowed. “We do have a certain turnover even if it isn’t steady. Other businesses do poach employees from time to time since there is a perpetual labor shortage.

  “If you are not urgently looking for an immediate change that would make matters easier, since we could have you slotted to move up when something comes open.

  “I’m not in any hurry to lose you, but most of our help have some college or degrees. If you could find something that utilizes earlier training I certainly couldn’t fault you for taking advantage of it.”

  “I do have a Masters,” Linda revealed. “However it is in Post-Gender Cultural Intersectionality. Back on Earth I could have been employed by any number of government agencies, or smaller local governments to monitor compliance with employment standards or qualify companies to bid for supply and services. Here on Home there aren’t really any such laws or quotas to oversee.”

  Detweiler blinked a couple times and decided there was no point in asking exactly what broader field of study encompassed that degree. He suspected it was immersed in what people increasingly called Earth Think, and he’d be better off not to ask too much to maintain a good relationship with his cleaning lady. He just smiled and nodded, choosing tact, and went on.

  “We have three positions under the chef in the kitchen. The sous chef really requires almost the same level of experience as the head chef. We could train for a roundsman to work in the lower two positions. Those two have to be flexible and do any job. We don’t have any further specialties like a sauce chef. It’s physically a small kitchen so a fifth position would be difficult to fit in, even as a trainee. Did you perhaps actually cook items for your family on Earth? That would be an advantage. I was given to understand that is becoming less common on Earth all the time.”

  “In the larger cities, that’s true. That’s what you will see promoted in videos as normal now. They don’t want to equip small apartments with real kitchens. But we always lived in smaller towns, almost rural areas, where cooking is still common and not regarded as an exotic hobby. I’ve mixed things and chopped things, and cooked them on a real stove, just like my mother and her generation always did,” Linda said.

  “That’s good,” Detweiler said, nodding. “I only have one person doing our advertising, payroll, menus and things you would call office work, and he’s part time. Chances are that isn’t going to open up or offer you much advantage. We might get an opening for a bartender. Forgive me for saying I’m not sure you have the personality for that job, I wouldn’t attempt it myself. It’s a difficult mix of knowing when to be outgoing and when to just fill the order. On occasion even knowing how to tactfully tell the customer he’s had enough. You also need to know hundreds of drinks and be able to make them from memory. Do you have any experience that way?”

  “No, alcohol was a problem in my family home and mother would never allow a drop to be in the house,” Linda said. “I agree I wouldn’t qualify for that.”

  “If you’d like to try helping in the kitchen, it would pay a bit more even to start, and the potential to make much more if you advance and show a talent for it is there. Think on it,” Detweiler invited, “and if you want to try it some time when one of our people needs a day off I can call a temp service to cover your cleaning the same day. Be aware it’s a fourteen hour day, which is a long day on your feet even at a half G. The pace is difficult at peak times, instead of setting your own pace until you are done, as you are accustomed to do cleaning. If you decide you want to attempt it get back to me and I’ll arrange it.”

  “Thank you, I’ll think on what you told me and get back to you if it seems to be the direction I should go,” Linda said.

  Detweiler had no illusions he’d be hearing from her. He’d seen the look flash over her face when he’d mentioned fourteen hour days and a brutal pace. He worked fourteen hours sometimes himself, though not on his feet and hustling. If Linda tried it he predicted one shift w
ould be enough to dissuade her.

  “Forget that,” Linda thought as she went away. She had no idea the kitchen help worked a full shift plus, from before opening until after closing. “How can they do that?” she wondered, amazed.

  * * *

  On the Sandman, in ballistic transit to Mars, a sensor was intermittently showing bad, in the third pressurized and temperature controlled hold for foodstuffs and other sensitive cargo. Most of the freight was lashed down and palletized, but the volume left over was filled with very flimsy mesh plastic bags holding small consumer bags of popular snacks as filler. They could be tucked in odd shaped spaces and the Martians appreciated the luxury of treats from home at very little mass penalty.

  The instrument tech had to pull three of the fill bags out of the hold into the ship’s corridor to create a channel to get to the aft bulkhead. He didn’t need much of a tunnel in zero G. He pulled the sensor module, checked that none of the contacts fingers were bent or corroded blew the socket out with contact cleaner, and wiped the gold pads on the module off with a special contact wipe. When he inserted it again it felt snug and the command deck reported it holding steadily green now instead of flickering.

  When he guided the first bag back in he jerked it around roughly scattering a few of the smaller packages at the rear of the hold. It just happened to have the spicy corn chips he loved, and two bags got ‘lost’ and tucked inside his coveralls. When they unloaded at Mars it would be hard to prove when or how the flimsy carrier bag got ripped. The people unloading might even think it just got caught on something. He was due to go off duty and stopped at the mess to get a drink to take to his bunk. After handling the tainted snack bags, he left an invisible trail of spots where he touched surfaces, from the hold to the mess and back to his bunk.

  If he hadn’t inoculated himself from his hands he certainly was doomed once he opened the first bag with his teeth. The next morning he didn’t feel quite right, but it wasn’t enough to go on a sick call. He had work in the tiny repair shop he shared with his team leader and another tech. He was engrossed in a difficult repair under the binocular microscope and felt a minor urge to go to the head but wanted to solder the last connection first.

  The minor urge was suddenly a painful disaster. He had a sudden unexpected eruption that the polite term of flatulence was never meant to encompass. The suit tech scrambled out the hatch going, “Oh my God, Oh my God… ” He was between the hatch and his leader. “I uh, have to go change. In fact I think I need to shower,” he told the man in horror.

  “Get out of here, and don’t come back until you have a clearance from medical,” his supervisor gasped, pointing out the hatch. Little did the man know he was already doomed. They had shared tools and computer keys.

  He got a jump suit and a laundry bag, but when he got to the shower he had a sudden eruption from the other end, vomiting all over the shower enclosure and controls. By the next morning thirteen of the twenty seven man crew were sick.

  The XO, warned while still in his cabin the next morning, put on gloves and a mask and ate only sealed ration packs he washed in his own tiny sink. He held out three days and he was the last one to succumb.

  * * *

  Vic carried her treasure bag to the Woodleigh’s camp off near the tree line. They still had enough daylight to examine it. She hadn’t been gone so long that things didn’t fit, though some might not in a year. In particular there were her good hiking boots and jewelry. There were lumps in a pair of socks and when fished out they were astonished to find her mom thought to return the empty brass from the two rounds she’d used to kill the home invaders.

  “That was very well done,” Vic said. “She figured out I might reload them.”

  Included was a small selection of the trade goods her family was selling. The year before, Eileen had found a wrecked truck on their long trek to her grandparent’s cabin. They’d sheltered over the winter by the truck which had much needed supplies. That’s why she told her dad she’d saved them twice, by finding the truck the winter of last year, and killing the home invaders very early this spring.

  She’d accused her dad of not appreciating her actions, but her mom obviously had some gratitude, to include any of the precious trade goods they carried for three weeks from the truck wreck. She had sewing needles, a few butane lighters, and a bottle of acetaminophen they didn’t consider trade goods because they only had two. That was actually pretty generous Eileen had to admit.

  “Where will we put our things while we’re at the party?” Eileen asked.

  “Arnold and his wife insist they came for the trading and for their daughter to socialize. They are content to guard camp and wait for us to return,” Vic said.

  “We should do something nice for them,” Eileen insisted.

  “If I may presume, one of those packs of needles would probably be much more payment than they are expecting, and would be well received,” Vic said.

  “It’s not presumptuous,” Eileen insisted. “We hold things in common now.”

  Vic didn’t say anything, but he looked pleased.

  * * *

  “This is interesting,” Heather told Jeff. “The Sandman in transit to Mars says they have some sort of outbreak of diarrhea and nausea, but no fatalities. It doesn’t scan on their medical tech’s instrument as a known organism, but they report it acts like a Noro virus.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Jeff said. “We’ve had a real hard time getting Earthie crew on the Isle of Hawaiki to keep a clean galley and head. That’s even though we are using first world crew, not cheap labor from exotic third world hell holes.”

  “You’d think they would have the crew in quarantine for a week or more before letting them start such a long voyage,” Heather said, “I certainly would. In zero G and jammed in tight quarters sick? That’s going to be fun.”

  “Ugh… imagine if they transmitted it to the Mars colony,” Jeff said.

  “”Surely they won’t let anybody go down from the moon to the surface until they don’t show any symptoms,” Heather said. “They can unload the supplies in vacuum or if it’s pressurized freight wear suits to pull it off. You know they have everything sealed up and fog it to kill any vermin, so they’ll be fine unless they do something incredibly stupid, and let somebody with an active infection take the shuttle down. I’m going to copy that to April’s message feed so she sees it when she gets back.

  “Send it to Happy too,” Jeff said. “He has an interest in Mars stuff.”

  * * *

  “It wasn’t supposed to infect the crew,” Paul said.

  “Not your fault,” Markus said. “It’s safe to say somebody was pilfering. I can’t imagine how they would have gotten it otherwise.”

  “Well, that’ll teach them,” Paul said, “it’s nasty stuff, not lethal, but they will be miserable and you can’t get rid of it without the specific agent.”

  * * *

  Mackay walked Sabato to breakfast and then Dr. Ames clinic. He should have been able to find his own way. Everything was on the same corridor as his hotel, and he didn’t even have to go very far around the ring. After his stupid escapade the night before he just didn’t trust the fool to not elope for some hare-brained reason and mess everything up.

  Mackay could see he was impulsive and self-centered. He was exactly the sort who figured if he didn’t make an appointment everyone would just rearrange everything for his convenience. If Ames rescheduled him six months from now he’d have to buy his own lift ticket or relinquish his prize. He could just imagine how that would go over with this jerk, and it would be bad publicity for the Lotto with some people even if his complaints were unreasonable.

  Then there was the slight possibility somebody from the debacle with the beam-dogs might run into him. He had no confidence the fellow wouldn’t mouth off and stir up new trouble, maybe even get a matching shiner for the one he already had. The idea made Mackay smile.

  Once he delivered Sabato Mackay waited. After he was gone to
the back he asked the receptionist to tell him when Sabato was actually being treated. He figured it would probably be safe to leave once the man had a line in his arm anchoring him. Mackay would be back before he finished for the day to escort him to dinner and back to the hotel.

  The technician who took Sabato to the tiny treatment room offered the use of a wall screen if he wanted entertainment. She was petite and exotic, dressed in a very plain Sari suitable for business, with a yellow bindi between her eyebrows, and if the bindi did not make the point she valued prosperity she also wore enough high karat gold jewelry to make most other ladies take a deep breath.

  Sabato saw she was obviously attracted to him, because she was polite. So few ladies were polite to him that Sabato instantly took it for much more than it really meant. Indeed, so many wise in the ways of life had their internal Creepo-Meter peg over from their first glance at him that it was rare to be treated with respect. That it might be a reasonable business tactic in association with such an expensive medical procedure never occurred to him. He was sure it was his personal charm and good looks.

  Anaya’s first clue Sabato might be a problem had actually happened before even seeing him, when Tanya the receptionist dropped a text to her spex.

  “Honey, the customer on the way back looks like a brawler and an Earthie. He has a handler delivering him who I know to be a very expensive security guy. Take your name badge off and stick it in your pocket, and don’t be in a compartment alone with this guy unless you call me to guard your butt.”

  Sometimes, Anaya found Tanya pessimistic, but not always, and nothing she suggested would be harmful even if it turned out that there was no need for caution. She also gripped the ornate enameled and jeweled handle of her kanjhar and made sure it moved freely in the ornate silver sheath. It was ridiculously over decorated, and might be mistaken for just a fashion accessory, but the blade was entirely functional sharp Damascus steel under all the inlay and engraving.

  Sabato droned on about his winning the Life Lotto while Anaya arranged an IV ready to use, and pasted a couple wireless sensors on his neck and wrists. He just reached out and touched the ceramic taster pad when she requested it, and didn’t protest like he had on entering Home.