Barbary Station

by R. E. Stearns

  They hung in a black wire chandelier above a woman with dark hair, a cat’s-eye-yellow shirt, and a smile as she spoke from one of the formfitting chairs programmers used in the big labs. Action figures from popular science fiction and fantasy productions were arranged on top of a small refrigeration unit. Most of the figures were from major Earth vids, but several were from Lunawood stories produced on Earth’s Moon and one or two cheesy Lunawood ripoffs produced in the colonies. Even the desk lamp set the impossible task of lighting the room from a corner on the floor had shiny stickers depicting imagined alien creatures and sleek-lined, supposedly faster-than-light ships on its base.

  Kyr waved. Suhaila waved back without breaking her patter. “I mean, I can see watching Sol’s Saddest Hoarders for a lifetime. Not spending your whole life singing about one person. But since that doesn’t make it through the lead cloud and Casey Mire Mire doesn’t bring me any episodes, take a listen to ‘Lifetime Lovin’ Zir’ by the Palomar Five Collective.”

  So the ship’s name was pronounced with six syllables, not four. Iridian had only ever read the full name. Adda had interpreted the four-syllable version as Casey swamp swamp, which seemed odd. And the pilot brought channel scrapes through the lead cloud too, if Suhaila was hoping for current entertainment.

  “Turn up the volume after the song’s over for the big interview with Barbary Station’s mysterious new arrivals!” Suhaila’s description made Iridian smile.

  The podcast host chopped her hand through the space between two black rods on her right while hitting a button with her left, then swept aside an audio headset that doubled as a headband holding back her dark hair. She stood to shake Iridian’s hand like an Earth native. Her skin was smooth and soft. “Hey, I’m Suhaila, great to meet you! Are you Adda or Iridian?”

  “Iridian Nassir. Adda’s on her way.” She accepted a squeezable packet of water that the Crowne colony ship’s crew would’ve used and sat gingerly in one of two empty chairs beneath the microphone chandelier. Combining too-tight armor and furniture requiring right-angle bends made both a lot less comfortable than their designers intended. She twisted the helmet off and set it in her lap. This was the warmest place she’d been on the station, and the armor only maintained ideal enviro while sealed and using up its store of O2.

  “So you rode one of the pirate ships to get here. That’s the rumor. CMM is my favorite,” Suhaila confided while Iridian nodded to confirm her mode of transportation. “Do you know she once came back with all seven seasons of Extranormative Perceptions?” Suhaila pointed to a brightly colored figure on her crowded refrigerator, one of the show’s shaggy-haired heroes. “Your crew says she’s not called Casey Mire Mire, but since that’s all she answers to, I guess they’re wrong about that.”

  “Owner picks the name, pilot shuts their cakehole, yeah?” Iridian quoted a classic Extranormative Perceptions episode to cover her lack of knowledge on the pirate ship names and pilot eccentricities. Suhaila’s laughter must’ve maxed out the nearest mics.

  Tiny fingers shoved the soundproof door open. A different child hung off each of Adda’s hands, dragging her into the studio and talking at once. Four more spilled in after them. Adda was laughing harder than she had since this whole adventure started. Gods, she was adorable when she laughed. A twinge of guilt tightened the corners of Iridian’s mouth. She should’ve put more effort toward keeping Adda happy as well as alive.

  “Come on in. You must be Adda. Get out of here, the rest of you, and close the door!” Suhaila made shooing motions with one hand while she got Adda her own water packet.

  “Awww!” said the children in varying pitch and intensity.

  “No, you’re loud and squirmy. Go on!” The kids slammed the door behind them, giggling until the mattress attached to the door shut out the sound. Adda scooted her chair over so it touched Iridian’s before she sat.

  Suhaila rearranged the headset and lowered her chin slightly. Iridian took Adda’s sweaty hand and squeezed. “And we are on in three, two, one . . .” Suhaila’s voice grew higher, brighter, and took on an Earthier drawl. “Finally, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”

  Being interviewed was still on Iridian’s bucket list, and she’d always thought it was inevitable that she’d end up on a show with an audience. She glanced sideways and caught her girlfriend’s smile at Iridian’s excited hip wriggle, which bumped their thighs together.

  Suhaila held up one finger and mouthed, “Music.” After a few seconds she said, “I’m here with two brand-new residents of Barbary Station. We know them as the pirate engineers, and they are living up to the title around the bay today! Iridian Nassir is the new woman in full armor, and Adda Karpe’s the one with the wild purple highlights! Go on, say hello to the fugees.”

  “Hi! Thanks for having us.” Iridian had rehearsed this moment, although at the time she’d fantasized about interviews after thrilling Shieldrunner heroics. Now she’d be known among the fugees as the armored pirate engineer, which sounded good even though the armor wasn’t hers, or remotely comfortable. And maybe Suhaila could edit their names out of the broadcast before she published it from Mercury to the Kuiper colonies. Her heart pounded like someone was shooting at her.

  She gave Adda’s hand another squeeze. Adda managed a tentative “Hello.”

  Suhaila made a palm-up motion for more volume from Adda as she said, “Now, the big question we’ve all been asking is, is it true that the recent supplies Sloane’s crew graciously donated came from a colony ship you, ah, brought to the station?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Iridian said. “It’s great you all found some use out of that. It’s nothing the original owners can’t replace.” Considering the ticket price for the high-end colonists’ passenger pod, those people could afford new property to treasure.

  “Oh, yeah, those were a big help! Not as much water as we’d hoped, but the pharmaceuticals will save lives. Massive thanks to Captain Sloane for giving us whatever can be spared, and thank you for bringing it! Sloane’s crew is the best, and the whole universe knows it. I’ve got all the wanted posters here in the studio.”

  She hit a button and a projector lit the mattress-covered wall on the right with, as promised, a 360-degree spinning profile on each of Sloane’s crew. Adda gasped, eyes wide in what appeared to be abject horror, but Iridian laughed aloud.

  Suhaila smiled like this was the reaction she’d hoped for. “Yep, it’s quite the collection. These are all outdated, obviously, but that’s not my fault! CMM is one of those ‘protect them at all costs’ fans, I guess. Speaking of things everybody knows, everybody knows Sloane’s crew comes here when things get too hot in the hideout, but we haven’t seen you people in months. Can you tell us anything about what happened to bring the crew here today?”

  Iridian glanced over to find out if Adda had any suggestions on how to answer this. Knowing her, she was already plotting a way to use this to secure their place on the crew, but she was also smothering in stage fright. Adda mouthed, “Memorialize” twice because Iridian just looked quizzical the first time.

  What could Iridian say about the crew members who’d been killed? She hadn’t had time to learn much about them. “Well, the AI running your security system here is pretty unforgiving.”

  “Oh, it’s not ours,” Suhaila said quickly. “We hate it as much as anybody on Sloane’s crew does. Some of us stay here on the ship and never go into the station, we hate it so much.”

  “Sorry, I see, that’s terrible,” Iridian said. Suhaila nodded for her to go on. “But yeah, we lost some good people.”

  Suhaila’s face fell. “Oh gods. Who?”

  Iridian scanned the profiles on the wall. Sloane’s crew were objects of fandom among the refugees. This would hit them hard. “Um. The first were Xing, Alexov, and their little one.”

  “Oh no, not Kimmy.” Suhaila pressed her hand to her mouth for a moment.

  “Yes, it was terrible.” Iridian winced to use the same description twice. “And on o
ur way here, we lost . . .” The guy’s poster refreshed her memory of his name. “Liefeld and Kaskade.”

  “Oh no.” Suhaila drew in a long, shaking breath. “Well, you heard it here first, from the newest additions to Sloane’s crew, Adda and Iridian.” She hit another icon and swiped her hand through the two black rods, which probably had a low-intensity laser between them, then shifted the headband away from one ear. “Oh, shit. That’s awful,” she said to Adda and Iridian. “That’s just a huge loss. I’m playing Taps, by the way. Wow, that’s . . .” Suhaila wiped her eyes, dragging streaks of black eyeliner toward her temples. “We . . . we have to pull this up on the way out. Tell me you have good news.”

  Before Iridian could think of something positive enough to lighten the mood after that dramatic announcement, Adda said “We’re going to disable—” Iridian interrupted Adda with a hand on her arm before she finished the sentence. Suhaila raised her eyebrows but waited while Iridian leaned toward Adda to whisper, “Let’s not give the AI a heads-up about what we want to do to it.”

  Adda frowned, but said, “We’re working on something.”

  Suhaila looked disappointed, and Iridian couldn’t blame her. “Captain Sloane’s said that before. We’re all very grateful.” She sighed. “Let’s say something about how you’ll be helping them hit more colony ships. That’ll guilt the listeners off-station into sending more care packages, and build up Sloane’s rep. The captain tells me that ‘improves the situation back home,’ whatever that means.”

  Suhaila signaled that they were going back on air and delivered the message, with more glowing descriptions of the crew. Iridian and Adda exchanged incredulous looks, and Adda subvocalized a message that appeared on Iridian’s comp glove projection: “Captain Sloane’s propaganda?”

  Iridian gave her a small nod, which Suhaila didn’t react to. This was probably the origin of the rumors of Sloane’s crew living well on Barbary Station, although according to everything the pirates said, money really was going to their accounts somewhere. “Maintaining control of crew assets on Vesta?” Iridian tapped in a reply message. Adda shrugged.

  Suhaila said, “Good luck to you, Adda! And you too, Iridian. All the best of luck. That’s all the time we’ve got. Did I hear correctly that there’s a wake at Floor Two?”

  “Well, I thought ‘memorial’ was the word Captain Sloane used.” Adda blinked wide eyes, like she’d just realized she was still speaking to the station’s entire population.

  Adda, will you marry me? That’d raise refugee morale. She was holding Iridian’s hand like she’d float away without it, biting her pink lips and scrunching her eyebrows like she was replaying what she’d said in her head, checking it for errors.

  But Iridian couldn’t turn a wake into an engagement party. That would be creepy, if not a huge damper on their happy day, and maybe bad luck. Suhaila was thanking them for being guests on her show and signing off. Iridian hauled herself out of the daydream in time to deliver another “thanks for having us.”

  “Whew.” Suhaila sucked down a big gulp of something in a closed mug and looked at Iridian, then Adda. “I’ve got to set up a playlist, and then I’m sending Kyr to Floor Two with a mobile unit. Oh my gods, I can’t believe Baby Kimmy is gone.” She sniffled and wiped more makeup across her face. “Thank you for the chat, but I need some time.”

  Iridian stood and pulled Adda up with her. “Come on. If it’s a wake and not a memorial service, I want a spot by the bar.”

  * * *

  Floor Two was three tarps hung over a one-story scaffold and the front of a trackless cargo loading bot with a working power cell. The smaller tents, with signs advertising NON-RATION FOOD, pet birds and rats BRED RIGHT HERE ON THE STATION, and even self-defense classes, were shuttered. People were everywhere, talking and listening to speakers playing the same song out of every stall.

  Some people wore their hair short with shaved patterns in colony styles, but since Iridian was still carrying the helmet instead of wearing it, her shaved dome drew attention. When the fugees took in the armor and purple streaks in Adda’s hair mentioned during the interview, they closed in. “The engineers are here! It’s Iridian and Adda!”

  Adda breathed so fast she was in danger of hyperventilating. Iridian pulled her against her side, and Adda wrapped an arm around Iridian’s middle. The fugees urged them into the actual construction of Floor Two. WFUG’s music played louder than ever and clashed with a dance club classic in a minor key already playing inside the bar. Iridian set her helmet back on her head, faceplate open, to free the hand not holding Adda.

  Captain Sloane leaned on a narrow bar inside, chatting with the man behind it. Next to them, Tritheist’s eyes followed half the people in the room, even with his arm hooked through the captain’s. On the captain’s other side, tracking threats appeared less important to the woman who’d met them at the barricade than tracking the straw in her beverage. She leaned comfortably into the captain’s personal space while she drank, and neither Sloane nor Tritheist appeared to mind the intimacy.

  The captain broke off the conversation in progress to focus on Adda and Iridian. “So, you’ve been introduced to the fandom. Interesting take on the Casey, as well.”

  Iridian straightened her spine and shifted to block more of Adda from Sloane’s view. If Captain Sloane were going to dress them down for how they’d talked about the crew or the crew’s ships, now would be the time. Sloane stared at her. She stared back.

  The captain broke into raucous laughter, which the back of her mind still tried to categorize as masculine or feminine. Gods, that was rude of her. “Don’t let it go to your head!” said Sloane. “My crew knows that.” The captain gave her a sharp look, which said as clearly as words and that does not yet include you, before handing her a cup full of something pungently alcoholic. Adda refused the cup offered to her. “So, you’re working on a way to disable AegiSKADA, if I understood the last moments of your talk with Suhaila correctly?”

  Fumes hit Iridian’s nostrils before she even had the cup to her lips, but she took a gulp for courage anyway. The fermented liquid had an aftertaste of diesel and rotten pomegranates. “Yes, sir.” Beside her, all of Adda’s body language said that she wasn’t ready to talk about her findings. “We’re following up on a couple of ideas.”

  Captain Sloane nodded, to Adda as well as Iridian. “You’ll tell me when you have something actionable.”

  “Yes, sir.” Iridian winced. “Captain. Are we setting up somewhere in the fugee camp? If so, there’re some supplies we’ll need.”

  Sloane sipped at something that couldn’t possibly be as strong as whatever was in Iridian’s cup. “I expect it will be safe enough to return to our stronghold tomorrow.” That was something. Adda wouldn’t have been able to do much without her workspace generator, and Iridian hadn’t brought so much as a toothbrush. “Now, settle in. We await one more honored guest.” Iridian bowed, elbowed Adda to get her to be polite too, and found a spot to stand a comfortable distance away from the officers.

  She was about to ask the nearest ZV how he was holding up when Adda yelped. Iridian whirled back to her, sloshing a small splash of her drink on Adda’s shirt. “Oops. What? What’s wrong?”

  “I just got a message. Local contact, but I didn’t see anybody nearby on a comp.” She held the back of her hand up for Iridian’s inspection.

  The message read, Meet me beneath the rear guard tower, 00:15. Just you two. It had no signature, and the From line was randomly generated characters.

  Adda glanced around the assembled company, then back to Iridian. “I want to see what information about the sender I can pull from this. The way the refugees stripped the colony ship systems to reinforce environmental management in the docking bay, I’m surprised they can send messages at all.”

  Iridian pulled Adda out of the way of a fugee yelling over the music at a ZV with a drink in each hand. “Captain Sloane’s about to say something, babe. You can work after that, if you don’t want t
o wait and ask in person.”

  A couple of fugees started talking to them about celebrity news they hoped the Casey Mire Mire would bring from beyond the lead cloud. This kept Iridian occupied until three ZVs arrived, carrying somebody over their head. It took her a second, and a sniff as they passed, to identify the person they carried as Kaskade.

  They’d wrapped her demolished head in a piece of tarp, thank all the gods. Adda gaped after her, looking disgusted. “Did they have to bring her here?”

  Iridian frowned down at Adda. “If a Shieldrunner went down, I wouldn’t leave her lying just a klick away until some creepy AI took her. She was supposed to go home after all this. The enemy shouldn’t get to keep any part of her.” Iridian was lucky enough never to have had to go into enemy territory to retrieve a friend, but the Shieldrunners had talked it over more than once. Adda still looked disgusted and confused, and there was more Iridian could say, but it was too fucking morbid. “It’s not a rational thing.” Of all the pirates who’d died recently, Kaskade’s would’ve been the only body the crew could bring “home” with minimal risk. She was glad they felt the same way about that as she did.

  Most of the docking bay’s lights faded out as Captain Sloane started to speak. Iridian wrapped her arms around Adda from behind and rested her chin on the top of Adda’s head as Sloane described the three fallen ZVs’ combat prowess, detailing how terrifying Xing had been before, and after, she became a mother. The other two ZVs, Alexov and Liefeld, had fought for the secessionists in the war. Somehow that only annoyed Iridian instead of pissing her off. The captain listed Kaskade’s biggest exploits and praised her fast-talking wit, which could have a passcode out of anyone before they knew what was happening.