Catalyst

by Jody Wallace

  “I’m going to assume I won’t get nanobots,” Wil commented to Su since the doc was concocting something in another part of the office.

  She shook her head. “Shah. That’s far too rich for dehydration. Javier studies holistic medications. But he is amazing.” She patted her leg, the one with the prosthetic. “He’s my hero.”

  “So are you going to bathe me yourself?” he asked next.

  “I am not,” she said blandly. He shouldn’t make sexual innuendoes to her and vowed to stop. “I imagine a dancer is flexible enough to wash his own back.”

  “Do you have water?” When water was scarce, cleansing gels or steam could be substituted. Water was slower, and you had to scrub yourself instead of letting the steam do the work. Sometimes he needed it fast, but times like now he would welcome it slow and hot and…

  He would keep those thoughts to himself.

  “We have water,” she said with a laugh, leaning her hip against an exam table. “Trash Planet has oceans and lakes as well as ice and vast wastelands. And yes, we recycle the shower water. It’s easier to purify than our oceans. We have soap, too.”

  “What did you recycle to make the soap?”

  “You’re better off not knowing,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes. “But I traded a heavy duty hazmat container for a year’s supply.”

  The doctor returned, offering Wil a test tube of greenish liquid. He sniffed it, and the intensity of the scent singed his nose hairs. “What poison is this?”

  “Just drink it,” Su recommended. “I’ve had that one. I think. Javier won’t tell us his secrets.”

  He could have Pumpkin find out. He’d been leery of drinking or eating unknown substances since that incident on Kolliyar. “I’ll pass.”

  “You won’t pass,” Javier corrected him. “For if you don’t take this, you’re going to find urination exceptionally painful for up to a week. Have you not experienced temp cryosleep, young friend?”

  “My… No, I haven’t.” He lifted the test tube to his lips. Su wouldn’t have saved his life, risked her own, and brought him here just to let her ancient medic poison him with green slime. “Down the hatch.”

  The contents of the test tube didn’t taste as bad as they smelled, but the gelatinous texture was less than pleasant. Wil hid a gag but pulled a face for show.

  “Now wash him before he contaminates anything,” Javier recommended. “He’s covered in animal hair that contains a number of allergens. I estimate at least two of our crew members would have a histamine reaction. In fact, I recommend the same cleansing for you.”

  Su nodded her head, not telling Javier about Pumpkin, and Javier didn’t pursue it. While she seemed to have an affectionate relationship with the old guy, why didn’t she trust him enough to share?

  Wil followed her out of the office and down another corridor. Most of the citizens he’d mingled with had been under the treatment of enough nanobots that Pumpkin hadn’t given them sneezes, but it did happen occasionally. “Were you worried he’d ask about the cat?”

  “Javier’s interests rarely extend beyond medical matters and your responsibility for those in your care,” Su said. “He’s exceptionally focused. It’s what makes him such an innovative doctor. I also figure it’s Pumpkin’s business who to tell, not mine.”

  That she believed the truth was Pumpkin’s choice to reveal, not hers, was an insight that proved she was as trustworthy as Pumpkin said she was. “That’s been my policy, but he’s been forthcoming today.”

  “I find good people.” She smiled up at him, as if he was included in her finds.

  They exited the building along the long, lower side and walked across dust and gravel toward another building. This one had more character. Colorful paintings splattered some of the walls, and the door was obviously cabbaged from a stellarship. Wind turbines whirled all over the ceiling, and solar panels, probably less effective here than somewhere like Ignis, glinted along the edges.

  She opened the unlocked door into a space that was as flamboyant and vibrant as nothing else he’d seen on Trash Planet. Bright handmade tapestries, primitive artwork, mismatched furniture, much of which seemed to be made of boxes, and a number of holo screens dotted the large common area. A servo-bar at one end rotated as a man in grey coveralls received a drink. Soft music chimed from another area where two women sat strumming a pair of lap lyres. The ceiling, sturdy and reinforced, was bedecked with pennants and streamers.

  “Welcome to our home,” Su said, the satisfaction in her voice as warm as the Raeaan sands.

  Chapter 9

  After showing Wil how to work the showers, Su got her own stinky ass cleaned up, set the factory to an orange alert level, and tried to settle back into the business of box recycling. The day was already crunched and quitting time was nigh, but she’d been off the grid long enough that lots of messages were waiting. The delayed plastene delivery due to the muck-up in the tunnel and the union’s failure to do anything about it meant she and the other factories on this side of the mountain range had to shuffle their schedules.

  Schedules and sticking to them were very important on a planet that was often grounded by hailstorms, both expected and unexpected. Ground transpo still functioned during a hailer, but few risked it.

  Nyong wasn’t happy. Omar wasn’t happy. Nobody on this side of the range was happy. She sure as fuck wasn’t happy.

  Her first call was to the union complaint committee. While it would go nowhere, she wanted the grievance on file. If Omar and Nyong complained, too, even better, so she commed them with the relevant info. Then she placed an order with the automotive union for another armored hauler truck and a few dollies. She was banking on Wil coming through with those DICs in order to pay for it, but without it, their business was going to be cut by a third. Garbage scow fuel cost ten times more than land vehicles, which ran on recycled organics.

  There were always plenty of organics. Humanity might be spread across the stars and limited in its access to habitable planets, but they still managed to create an endless supply of shit.

  Next she got updates on what had happened with that gasbag from Gizem station. He and his men had flown to Bunk Port, and maintenance crews were trying to clear the tunnel. No doubt Casada would ask everyone who she was and where she might have taken Wil. She’d have to hope that Trash Planet loyalty would stand up to Gizem station bribery long enough for her to figure out what to do.

  It was one thing for that fucker to blow up her truck and try to kill her and the guy she’d found in the trash. It was another if he tracked down her factory and hurt her crew and her livelihood. Vac it, he’d already wounded her livelihood by blasting her truck and her loot. Would Garza give him the info he wanted? She could have him kicked out of the union for that, presidential status or no.

  A picker without loyalty to the union was a picker without a union. And a picker without a union was a picker with very little business.

  A clang on her metal door stopped her from placing a call to that Pish guard, Bart, whom she figured she could convince to spy on Casada and Garza for the right price—a position on her staff for his brother.

  “I have news!” Tama said in a singsong, happy voice. “SPA commed me back. They’re coming.”

  “Yeah?” She and Wil had shot one of the bristlebacks, but that paled in comparison if Casada’s men had killed some—and one of them female. Hopefully the blaster wound would be on one of the dead ones and not traceable back to her weapon. “When?”

  The sooner Casada left Trash Planet, the better—for her and for Wil and Pumpkin.

  Tama shrugged. “You know how they can be. All mysterious. I just hope they don’t send Ikhtiyar Xavier to head the team. He’s creepy.”

  “Who’s that?” Su hadn’t dealt with SPA much. No need to, although they did send regular patrols to check on the bristleback population.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Tama scratched her neck and grimaced. “He likes ugly and poisonous endangered creatures, not fuzzy,
cute ones like cats. He’s probably way too high up in the organization to do grunt work. Oh, hi, Wil.”

  A scrubbed and gleaming Wil Tango in leisure wear—recycled fiber pants and shirt—popped his head around Su’s doorframe. She was happy to see, and admire, him when fully dressed. It felt less exploitive. “You said you could get me a secure connection on the cybbie?”

  “Yeah, come on in.” Aside from the cybbie tower, the best comm console was in her room since she was the one who fielded the most messages. Second most fancy setup was in Zima’s room, the girl she’d hired out from under Garza. But Zima spent a lot of her time off-planet, charming people and selling boxes.

  “Since you do get the cybbie, I would prefer to watch a cooking show,” Pumpkin spoke, crawling out from under Su’s bed.

  All three humans stared at the cat. “Where did you come from?” Tama asked. “I just fed you in the mess hall.”

  “I finished.” Pumpkin jumped onto Su’s pillow and started kneading up and down. She frowned at him. That pillow was pure recycled silk foam, and she’d paid a pretty DIC for one of just the right softness.

  “He does that,” Wil said to Tama apologetically. He entered the room and sat on the foot of the bed, hands clasped loosely between his knees. “You get used to it.”

  “What are we doing next?” Tama asked. “We have the perimeter set up. My friend at Omar Goods said her friend at Bunk Port saw a guy I bet is this Casada character in one of the day labor joints. If he’s still in Bunk Port, that’s good, right?”

  When a Trash Planet resident had no permanent place of employment, some factories or pickers hired day laborers for odd jobs. What did Casada need with extra hands? Or was he seeking information?

  “Let’s find out.” Su flicked on the scrambler to secure the cybbie line. It should last long enough for what she and Wil needed to do. They couldn’t run the scrambler constantly or it would attract the wrong kind of attention, but a few minutes a day was inconspicuous. Same length of time as it would take to download a porn holo. Or twelve episodes of a cooking show. Or the vid feed of the South Rim Royal Dance Competition.

  She typed that message to Bart, fingers flying over the holo board. She hoped his brother wasn’t some lazy doffer. But nobody would be connect it to her or Wil if a guy from Pish was nosing around the day labor bar. That wouldn’t be the case for any locals Su could have asked for such a favor.

  “Now what?” Tama asked again, twirling a finger in her hair. “Waiting and doing nothing feels wrong. We should be checking our weaponry or fueling up the vehicles. Pumpkin, what do you think?”

  Tama had been with them during one particularly vigorous union dispute, though Casada wouldn’t be content with theft and destruction. Unions, even in disputes, generally agreed not to kill each other, plus factory crews had protections against attacks as well as Trash Planet’s overlong hailstorms.

  “I’ll ponder strategies.” The cat sank into the pillow and half-closed his eyes. “After we finish on the cybbie.”

  “Are you sleeping with me tonight?” Su asked, logging out of her account. Waking up this morning with the man and the cat had been…better than it should have been. She wouldn’t mind replicating it. “You’re welcome to.”

  Wil raised his eyebrows. “It wasn’t my plan, but I can accommodate you.”

  “Not you.” Red flushed her cheeks, and Tama hid a snort. “The cat.”

  Pumpkin locked gazes with Su, his orange eyes assessing. “Yes, I believe I will. To ensure you remember our promise.”

  “I’m going to go…” Tama jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Preserve something.”

  While Tama scuttled down the hall, no doubt to tell everyone on the crew that Su and Wil were totally having sex, Su maintained a more expressionless face than she was wont to do. “I don’t need to remember something that wasn’t going to happen anyway, cat.”

  The cat could see in her mind, sample her imaginings. Wil’s, too. Did Pumpkin know she’d been thinking about snuggling with the two of them?

  “Oh, friend, do not promise this cat anything,” Wil grumbled.

  She carefully didn’t look at him as she rolled her chair away from the console. “All yours, Wil.”

  She got up, checked the hallway, and closed the door quietly. Wil glanced up at her through his lashes. Long, dark lashes she’d noticed in detail when he’d passed out in her arms with cryo lag. She’d already slept with this man. Now they were alone. Alone, fed, bathed, temporarily safe and warm.

  “How much money do you think is fair?” he asked.

  She had an idea of what he could afford, and it was a lot more than she needed. But he wouldn’t know how much a truck on Trash Planet cost or how much it would take to add a space-friendly tow package on the Moll.

  But he trusted her. And Pumpkin was watching. “I can replace the truck and the DICs I would have gotten from the pickings yesterday for about half a mil,” she said, nudging the figure up to cover the losses from a late plastene shipment, clothes, boots, a gun, and one other thing. “Pumpkin can have the cardboard box.”

  Wil rose and stretched with a lithe movement. He shook his hands out. His grace, the very way he existed in his space. If he hadn’t told her he was a dancer, she would have figured it out by now. In a galaxy of nanobot enhancements, robot legs, and android companions, there was still no replacement for natural talent. “I’m ready.”

  She was ready, too, but not for anything that was a good idea.

  Wil scooted the chair back under the console and started inputting numbers and codes. “Secure, right?”

  She checked her chrono. “For about eight more minutes.”

  “Ample time.” After a moment, he leaned back in the chair and cursed. “Ample time to find out I’m frozen as an ice moon.”

  “You can’t access your accounts?” That would put a hitch in her stride, and her business. She hovered over Wil’s shoulder, staring at the evidence plastered all over the holo screen. “I’m fucked. I already ordered a new truck that I can’t afford without that money. And who knows what else Casada’s going to blow up?”

  “I’ll find a way to make good on it,” Wil assured her. “I’m sorry.”

  She leaned closer, glowering. “Bet they’ll try to trace anyone who logs into them.”

  “Want me to unplug?” His hand hovered over the eject button that removed a console from the cybbie.

  “Our security’s first-rate. Six minutes.” Su clenched her fingers into Wil’s shoulder, realized what she was doing, and shifted her hand to the back of the chair. “I could get Amatist in here. My cybbie tracer. She’s crafty.”

  Wil typed something into the computer. “I’ll write down my original passwords. How long would it take her?”

  “I don’t know.” Su would assign the task, but banks had hardcore security, and with Casada’s intervention, who knew what additional locks were on Wil’s account? “Even she can’t break through a seal like that in six minutes.”

  “Five,” Pumpkin corrected from the bed.

  Wil spun his chair, addressing the cat who was lolling on the bed as if Su’s truck, and gloss, and chance at a tow package, weren’t going up in a ball of flames. “Pumpkin, what about one of your accounts?”

  “No longer valid,” Pumpkin said. “Sorry, that money has been spent.”

  “It’s been spent?” Wil exclaimed in a higher voice. “That was ten billion…” He choked off his words.

  “I told you we weren’t done,” Pumpkin said smoothly. “More money is needed.”

  Su regarded Pumpkin with wonder. Ten billion DICs? That was nobility level fundage. The Leofrics and Riels, two of the Tria sector’s richest families, would be happy to have that kind of money. How in the world had a fat orange cat spent ten billion DICs when he didn’t even have opposable thumbs?

  “I am beginning to understand why you got pinched,” Su said. “You don’t win ten billion DICs in the casinos and avoid notice.”

  “We gambled in mo
re establishments than Gizem Station,” Pumpkin said with a drawl. “I am not a fool.”

  “We traveled all over the Rim,” Wil agreed. “We had the money for Q-ships, and we used it. It was just that Gizem was the most fruitful.”

  “Do you think the casino owners don’t warn each other about the high rollers and troublemakers?” Su spread her hands. “Even Trash Planet unions have a linkup with other recycling outfits around the Rim where we maintain a list of jakes who stiff us on payments or provide shoddy material.”

  “How can trash be shoddy?” Wil asked, dubious.

  She leaned toward him, face to face. His eyes widened, but she just reached over and punched the eject button on the console harder than necessary. “It could have a naked man and a cat in it who got my truck blown up and my factory threatened.”

  “I won’t let Casada hurt your crew.” Wil didn’t back away from her nearness, though she’d meant to intimidate. “I’ll give myself up first.”

  Why should he have to, though? Frustration built inside her like a hailstorm rolling across the plains. With no reimbursement in the offing, what was she supposed to do? Scrapper had been working on the Hail Buster for long enough that she had her doubts he’d ever get it running, much less that little armored roundabout he was determined to convert to organic fuel. She shouldn’t have jumped the gun and placed that order with the automotive union.

  She shouldn’t have trusted this man and this cat to fix the problem they’d caused.

  “You did the right thing when you found him,” Pumpkin said to her, probably reading her mind. “You know you did. You’re clean. It’s why I chose you.”

  “I don’t want to be clean. I want my truck back,” she barked at the cat, who closed his eyes. “Get out of my head. Who do you think you are, going around choosing people and ruining their lives?”

  “I wouldn’t say your life is ruined,” Wil said softly. “You have your crew, and they seem loyal to you. But I’m sorry we created a setback for your business.”