Living in Syn
Page 14
She looked at him seriously, inspecting his face, trying to look inside. "Honestly, if you can't stop painting these fairy tale visions of some Shangri-La, I'm going to stop listening. I suppose much of what you say is true. I don't think you adjust to this, I think you just have to turn everything off, and live inside yourself. I don't know why anyone would do it."
"Choices. It's all about choices. Look at Jeff Taylor. He's certainly not stupid and he's not without talents. But he couldn't win a scholarship, and his parents couldn't pay for college. So he looked around and saw what the mining colonies offered. A guy like Jeff, who doesn't drink much and doesn't frequent hookers can save his entire salary. Every time he comes home, he looks for a better job, and he takes learning software back to the settlement with him, to study in his free time. If he ever finds a job on Earth, he'll have enough saved to buy a house, get married, those kinds of things."
He looked up at Susan. "It's all about choices. That's why he does 18 month mining tours, and I risk my life hunting syns."
"Shouldn't you use the past tense when you talk about tracking?"
He smiled. "Perhaps I should. It still doesn't seem real. Anyway, on this trip, I'm a tracker first and foremost. If I don't approach it that way, my next job could be corpse."
"You really know how to cheer a person up."
She paused and then said, "I've been thinking about everything I own, sitting there in my apartment."
Mission said confidently, "We’ll get things straightened out up here, and pretty soon, you can come and go as you please, without a bodyguard.”
She nodded. “Yes, that will be good, that’ll be great.”
Mission looked at her for a moment. The silence felt uncomfortable. Just to say anything, Mission started, “I would think this is very hard on you. It would be for me, having to spend every waking moment with someone watching me. I like people, but I treasure my privacy.”
Susan nodded. “Empathy? Why, Mission, sometimes you can be very ... stupid."
"Alright. A guy blurts out one little phrase in the heat of the moment, and then pays for it for the rest of his life. I vow to find a suitable substitute for the word sweet."
"You can think about it while you're running up those simulated mountain ranges."
"You know, I think we have more space in these shuttle seats than in our room. If we slipped someone a hundred, I'll bet they would let us stay here."
Mission's assessment of the space station turned out to be almost completely wrong. Number Eight was the last in the string of complete stations fully servicing a settlement. So even though the dimensions were still tight, there were very few people. Apparently, warehousing parts for Number Nine comprised the station's only significant activity. As its construction proceeded, they would pull the needed parts and then the vacated space would be filled with the next components in the process.
Mission made a note to ask Susan if the government still subsidized the station. The government would underwrite a station when it determined there were sufficient commercial interests to eventually support it. Once construction was complete, work on the settlements began, and the government began to recoup its investment in the station. After a year or two, the station became a completely commercial enterprise, with the government retaining certain rights for guaranteed space and accommodations.
But this station couldn't make it on a for profit basis. It moved like a ghost town. And once Number 9 went operational, they would lose the warehousing income, which must be 80% of its business.
That evening, Mission and Susan took a leisurely walk through the facility. He took her hand and they wandered through the empty rooms and unused bays.
Mission said, "So, Dr. St. Jean, tell me about your family."
Susan's reacted with surprise. "My what?"
"Your family. You know, your Mom and Dad, brothers and sisters, that sort of thing."
"Well my mother and father both teach high school. Mom teaches Math, and Dad teaches history, sociology, those sorts of things. My brother Alan, he's six years older than me, teaches Philosophy at the University. He's tenured now. And my sister Clarisse who is four years older than me. She started a business remodeling home interiors, especially kitchens. Then she married Paul, he's a dentist."
"Where are you from? Are you the only one who left the hometown?"
"Yes. The rest of the family lives in and around Chicago. Why all the questions?"
"I'm interested. And I realized I don't know much about your personal life."
"And I know anything about yours? I don't even know what your first name is. And you've never told me anything about your family."
"All true. You'll never know my first name. But as for my family, my Mom and Dad are gone. I have a brother Troy who's four years younger than me. Thinks he's God's gift to women and manages to get the more unsuspecting ones to believe it. Good athlete, plays in a tough semi-pro basketball league in his spare time. And then there's Julia who's six years younger. God is she a beautiful kid. And she loves kids, she works with kids on the weekends. You should see her eyes light up. She's still in school."
"And where do they live?"
"Troy lives in San Francisco and Julia goes to school in New York. The children's center gives her room and board, so she works there all summer."
"And what about the eldest Mission?"
"Well, he’s working on a dangerous, thorny problem, he’s is in the middle of a career change, things are going really well for him right now"
Susan nodded. “Yes, I think you will really like your new job.”
“That’s not it.”
“Explain please.”
“When I said things are going well, I meant the way you and I can talk to each other. I like that.”
He looked at Susan. She was staring at him very hard, and there was the slightest quiver in her lower lip. He continued. “I look forward to talking with you.”
Her voice was very soft. “I do too.”
And then they kissed.
30
Major Carson Pierce neared exhaustion. He just put in a full hour on the simulated mountain ranges and even a cold shower failed to bring him back to life. He sat on the bed and looked down at the clock. 10:00 am. Only two hours till he could have a lunch that made him think warm and happy thoughts about C-rations. The com beeped and he snatched it up.
"Pierce here."
"Carson, this is Mission. I wondered if you could do some research."
"If you had a speeder here, I'd wash it for you. Does that tell you how bored I am? What do you need?"
"I'm wondering about this station. I mean, I've heard all the explanations about this being the end of the line and all .... it just doesn't add up. You know? When I see one of these facilities, I see a plan behind it that accounted for every square inch. Now suddenly we see an empty station. Something isn't right. Can you access the original plans and budget, the number of flights in between here and the settlement versus the same stats for some of the other settlements?"
"Yeah, I can do it. You want me to show you what I've found tonight in the mess hall?"
"That's an appropriate description. But no, I don't want the Dick to see us conversing. We’re supposed to be adversaries."
Pierce sighed. "I know, but Montag is not stimulating company. And watching the Dick haggle prices with the pleasure models is something even convicted killers shouldn't have to endure. Listen, Montag will help me with this and as soon as we have something, I'll push the data over to you."
"Thanks, Carson, it's only three more days."
"Now I feel better."
Pierce still hadn't contacted Mission at dinnertime, so he and Susan visited the station cafeteria.
The cafeteria server looked at Mission with the glazed stare of one who gave up long ago. When Mission failed to say anything the server, at his most articulate said, "Yeah?"
"Yes, I'd like your canned brown gravy over canned beef with reconstituted potato flakes and
a piece of the peach pie, but only if it's rubbery enough to patch a tractor tire."
Susan elbowed his ribs, but the server never even flinched. Mission guessed he learned long ago that any reaction to his customers only cost him more time.
They sat down at a table and Mission said, "All of these stations need to start an aggressive program to grow plants wherever possible. At some point, it would become cost effective to devote space to agriculture, even if only hydroponics."
"I think these places are a long way from anything like that."
Mission grumbled. "I think it's one of those you need money to make money propositions. The uses for stations and settlements will never grow beyond this primitive state until someone invests in those items people need over long periods of time. Like plants, fresh fruits and vegetables, rec rooms."
"I think that’s happening on Titan."
"But that's because they anticipate a breathable atmosphere in the near future. They know that space will soon be an abundant commodity. It's not the same problem to be solved on the space stations and all the other settlements."
Susan looked at him with amusement and said, "So what's the solution, Mission?"
"You know, the President asked me the same question just last week. Ah, I don't know. This, like every other question in the world is one of money. If enough businessmen see a potential for profit, those things will be here overnight. And that's the only way it'll happen.”
He paused. “So what should we do tonight?"
"Let's take another walk. We can explore the southern end of the station tonight."
"Sounds kinda dull, but I guess that’s the best we can do in this place."
Susan batted her eyelashes as quickly as possible and with a thick southern accent said, "You don't think I'm boring, do you Miss? You have always been a charmer, Miss "
Mission looked at her with a half-smile and said, “I hope you didn’t fall for that routine. She’s a smart girl."
“Yes, I know.”
Enough was enough. Carson refused to run one more simulated mountain range, refused to watch Montag analyze one more data screen, and certainly refused to watch Mission and Susan behave like teenagers in love, for even one more second. He left his room, moving purposefully, determined to do something, even if it meant getting drunk and beating hell out of some poor loudmouth.
Come to think of it, tying one on sounded pretty good, and capping it off with a bar fight sounded even better. He turned toward the bar, warming up to the idea. Boilermakers! That was the ticket. He hadn’t done boilermakers since St. Paddy’s and he was overdue. St Paddy’s. That was a celebration. And what was that girl’s name? Sherry? Shelia? Sharon? He passed the cafeteria and slowed down…then stopped. The bar didn’t serve food. He wanted to get plowed, but residual effects the next morning would be killer if he didn’t eat. That’s it. Some protein, some complex carbs, and then the boilermakers.
Carson finished his tuna on rye and canned peaches in absolute silence. He sat in an artificial corner of the cafeteria, created by a support post on the center of the rear wall. An old habit. It was an excellent defensive position with the post and the wall to his back. As he leaned forward to put his trash on the tray and leave, he noticed that someone sat in his mirror image, right next to him on the other side of the post. He saw a woman’s hands, holding a paperback, a travelogue on the Virgin Islands. He was curious. As he moved toward the exit, he stopped in front of her table. Wow. Early thirties. Space station coveralls, brown hair pulled back in a bun, brown rimmed reading glasses. But huge brown eyes. And a very provocative mouth.
Carson motioned toward the book. “I couldn’t help but notice. I love to snorkel off Charlotte Amalie.”
She didn’t even look up. “I’m sure.”
He was taken aback. “It’s…it’s just that the Virgin Islands are my very favorite beach vacation.”
She continued to read, never looking up. She still hadn’t even seen him. “I’m really not interested.”
Carson started to move away. “Sorry. Guess it didn’t occur to me that some folks are here because they don’t want to talk.”
As he headed to the exit, he felt a hand at his elbow. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”
In a way, the scene was eerie. Mission and Susan walked for 45 minutes and hadn't come across a single person. Staring down the long corridors, the minimal lighting disappeared before the vision did, giving the impression that one left the darkness to eventually enter it again. Mission held Susan's hand as she told him about her nieces and nephews.
Suddenly he put his lips to her ear and whispered, "Keep talking."
This was not an everyday occurrence for Susan and she stopped. Mission whispered again, "Keep talking."
This time she was better prepared and as she talked about the family reunion, Mission whispered, "Maybe I'm crazy, but I swear I hear footsteps. I think someone's following us."
They kept walking with Mission listening intently. Susan couldn't hear anything and she didn't see how Mission could. Their own steps and voices echoed through the station, and then came back at them. She watched his face closely. He epitomized focus, a complete immersion in the moment.
He put his mouth back to her ear and whispered, "This looks perfect."
He stopped at the sign reading Docking Bay 11, and studied the control panel underneath. Satisfied, he punched in commands and the pressurized door hissed and swung partially open. Mission stepped inside and switched on the overhead lights. He looked around and said, "That's what I'm looking for."
He moved over to a maintenance hatch and twisted the wheel until it opened. Then he turned and looked at Susan and said, "Your sweater. I need to borrow your sweater. And your pocket reference. Can you find a subject that will run for twenty minutes, and put it on speaker?"
She pulled out her com and started punching keys. "A general query on the solar system should do the trick."
The reference began and the narrator's voice welcomed them to a discussion of the solar system. Mission took it and placed it inside the maintenance compartment. Then he laid the sweater down in front of the hatch with the door slightly ajar. He stopped at the exit and listened. Perfect. You could hear the voice, but indistinctly. "Let's get out of here."
They came back out into the hall and Mission opened the door directly across from the docking bay. They went inside and Mission pulled out an ultrasonics grenade and clipped it to his shirt. He took a magnetic interrupter out and pushed it into a patch pocket on his thigh. Then he pulled out his Glock and held it at the ready.
Susan whispered, "If you have a runabout underneath that jacket, we can all go home."
Mission looked at her. Couldn't she just dig her nails into his arm? No, he wouldn't like that. Still, it unnerved him a bit for her to approach this so calmly. Perhaps he should interpret this as a sign of her confidence in him. She knew he would protect her. Right.
"You know, I do have a muzzle in here for people who talk during ambushes. Look, see how to lock this door from the inside? I want you to lock it the instant I move out. Call Carson if I get in over my head. Okay?"
She nodded and Mission flipped the light out. He watched the hallway as best he could through the three inch diameter leaded glass window. Susan crept up behind him to look over his shoulder. "Is that why you chose this spot? It's the only portal we've seen in ten minutes."
Mission turned around and nodded and then put his finger to his lips. She showed signs of too damned much courage. After at least five minutes, the follower came down the hall. Mission could see no more than variations in the shadows. But their follower looked to be 5'6" or so. Great, another female killer. She hesitated at the doorway to the Docking Bay, and then slowly pushed the door open. The light coming from the bay completely blacked out the image of the follower. Mission waited, and so did the syn. Finally, Mission whispered to Susan, "She's too smart to go all the way in. If I catch her by surprise, I can push her though the doorway."
An earsplitting siren blasted the area, and Mission put his mouth to the microphone area. "I've just initiated docking procedures. In less than two minutes, the bay doors will fly open and you'll be sucked into space as the room de-pressurizes. If you want to talk to me, I can interrupt the process."
He walked to the vue screen monitor that activated as part of docking procedures. The syn turned and it was no syn at all. It was Dick Denman!
31
Mission trembled with rage. He still held his Glock as he picked Denman up by the collar and pulled him close to his face. "Let's have it. Why were you following us?"
Denman looked as though he might shiver himself into a coma. "I wasn't. I swear. I was just taking a walk."
Mission shook his head and said, "No. If we walked down the main hall the entire way, I'd say it's possible. But we've taken three or four detours to see particular spots that interested us. You followed us."
"Okay, okay, so maybe I followed you. Maybe I think I didn't get the whole story on this little trip when I found out you was a bounty hunter and she was a syn shrink. That don't sound like a diagnostics team to me."
Mission let go of him and Dick straightened his collar. Then he looked at Mission and said, "What? You didn't run a check on me? Of course you did."
Mission said in a very even tone. "I retired from tracking. I work for Paradox."
"Yeah? Well that's real interesting, cause you are the only Paradox employee that's ever set me up, kicked my ass into an airlock and started to blow me into space while holding a Glock at the ready."