by M. D. Cooper
Erin didn’t want to give her full name or explain her presence just then. She hadn’t yet decided what or how much she would tell the marine biologist about the plans for Knossos.
“I’m Erin,” she said finally. “I’m here to scope out the area for development.”
“Development?” Ryland’s tone was aggrieved. His eyes narrowed. “What kind of development? I haven’t heard anything about it.”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about. I know what you’re doing here. Nothing we have planned will have any impact on your work.”
“I think I’ll be the best judge of that. Exactly what kind of development are you planning?”
“It’s… umm… You know, it might be easier for us to have this conversation if you came out of the water.”
The stern expression on Ryland’s face faltered. He broke eye contact and cleared his throat. “I’m more comfortable where I am, thanks.” Frowning again, he returned his gaze to Erin. “I don’t know what you or your company have in mind for this stretch of the coast, but I doubt it’s going to be as harmless to marine organisms as you think. Whatever it is you’re planning, I’m warning you now, I’ll be lodging a protest with the government.”
“I’m from the government.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Well…even so, you can’t just come here and do what you like. My work has a high priority.”
“Sorry, but mine has top priority.”
Erin’s reply left the scientist even more vexed. His hands went to his hips, and he seemed to be thinking up a strong retort, when Erin said, “You’re naked, aren’t you?”
“What?”
He’d heard her. She was sure.
“That’s why you won’t come out onto the beach.”
Dr. Ryland cleared his throat. “What if I am? What business is it of yours?”
“It’s OK, you know. I used to go skinny dipping with my brothers all the time when I was growing up. Come on out. I don’t mind.”
“I’d rather stay where I am. Thanks.”
“Would you like me to close my eyes?” Erin bit her lip to stop herself laughing.
Ryland bristled. “What has any of this got to do with your proposed destruction of the sea life around here? I’ve seeded a coral reef right around this promontory I have tropical fish nurseries, shellfish breeding grounds… You have no idea the amount of work I’ve put into this place and the surrounding ocean. There are hatcheries less than a hundred meters from the shore. Any contamination—”
Erin had raised her hands against his torrent of words. “Please don’t worry, Doctor Ryland. I’m confident that nothing we do will cause any harm to the creatures you’re growing around the shore or nearby. And we definitely won’t be interfering in your work. On that you have my guarantee. I’ll leave you now and give you some privacy. I hope to see you again in better circumstances.”
She turned to go, but hesitated.
She heeded his advice, and stepped away through the soft sand, not looking back.
About fifteen minutes later, hot and sweaty, Erin joined the young engineer. Sasha had indeed found the perfect place to drill into the cliffs and begin hollowing out the granite rock. Even better, it was atop the bluffs on the opposite side of the promontory from Martin Ryland’s residence and workroom. Their tunnelling would cause him very little disturbance.
“You didn’t see anywhere better?” Sasha asked when Erin had confirmed it was a great site.
“No, though I did have an interesting encounter. I’ll tell you about it on the way back.”
THE JOB
STELLAR DATE: 11.26.8935 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Landfall, Knossos Island
REGION: Carthage, 3rd Planet in the New Canaan System
The request arrived when Isa was deeply asleep. When the nudge, nudge, nudge from the Link finally broke through, she struggled groggily back to consciousness. Her boss wanted to talk to her.
Is he buttering me up?
Isa realized she must sound grumpy. She was grumpy—no one liked being woken up in the middle of the night—but she felt bad for taking it out on the man. He was a good boss. He wouldn’t have woken her and asked her to come in if he didn’t need her.
She pushed back her covers and climbed out of bed. After brightening the lighting some more, she showered, dried, put on the slacks and tunic that constituted her uniform, and set out for work, picking up a breakfast snack from her apartment block’s store on the way.
The Placement Services building was only ten minutes’ walk away, so, as always, Isa passed by her community’s municipal scooters, and went on foot. Whatever the problem was, it could wait ten minutes while she walked. The exercise would help wake her up.
The street was quiet at the early hour. Canaan Prime was just beginning to rise, not yet peeking over the tops of the houses and buildings. However, In the skies above, it was beginning to crowd out the light of the Cradle as it illuminated the nebulous ring that drifted around Carthage, the outflow from the a-grav towers that drew heat—and no small amount of gas—from the planet’s interior and vented it into space.
Even after viewing the sight a hundred times, its beauty never ceased to impress Isa as the space-clouds lit up in alternating red and green hues, casting their filtered light into the atmospheric clouds below.
While the sky glowed with rays from Canaan Prime as it warred with the starlight, the street was largely in shadow. Isa yawned, then took a bite of her steamed bun. The beauty was crowded out by the task ahead, as she wondered what to do about the cargo handlers.
She reached the glass-fronted Placement Services building, which was reflecting the colors of Canaan Prime as it rose. As she approached, the entrance opened, its Auth & Auth system recognizing her.
Once inside, Isa took the elevator to the tenth floor. Though Stanford hadn’t told her where to go, that level was a safe bet. New releases rarely came straight to Placement Services, usually choosing to spend a few weeks or longer in the transitional apartment blocks while they adjusted to life on Cartha
ge. The few fast-track cases the service received, those who insisted on immediate attention, were handled on the tenth floor.
As soon as the elevator doors opened, Isa heard someone shouting. The voice wasn’t familiar—it had to be one of the clients. Isa followed the noise to a room at the end of the corridor. She knew it well as the go-to room for difficult cases. It looked out over Landfall, and was supposed to give the client a sense of the endless exciting possibilities available to them in their new lives.
The view clearly wasn’t helping.
“For the last time, we don’t care what jobs you can offer us.” The voice was deep and angry. “We’ve been deprived of our rights, and we want to know what you’re going to do about it. We demand compensation. We’ve lost our homes, our former lives, everything. We’re not leaving until we hear about our restitution.”
Isa opened the door. Stanford and another co-worker, Mae, sat at one of the tables, looking deeply uncomfortable. Five burly men stood around the room. One of them leaned menacingly over the Placement Services staff. Isa guessed he was the one she’d heard shouting.
The man raised a finger and pointed at her while asking Stanford and Mae, “Who’s she?”
“Good morning,” said Isa.
Stanford stood up. “Isa. So glad you could make it. I’d like a quick word.” He hurried over and pulled her out into the corridor.
As she went, Mae gave her an alarmed look. Presumably, she didn’t like being left alone with the cargo handlers. Stanford shut the door.
“Our clients have been here two hours. They came straight from the Intrepid. They didn’t even stop to take a look at their allocated accommodation. I’m guessing the stasis staff thought they’d pass the problem onto us, but to be frank, I have no idea what to do with them. I’ve never encountered this kind of difficulty before.”
Isa was wondering what made her boss think she would be any better than him at finding an answer, when the door was wrenched open. The man who had been intimidating Stanford and Mae stood framed in the doorway.
Up close, he looked even more threatening. He was clearly built for his job. Though the cargo handlers employed mechanical lifters, the size and strength required to operate the machines was something this man had in abundance.
Isa’s eyebrows lifted. “Can I help you?”
“You tell me,” the man replied with a coarse grunt. “Have you got more influence than the two excuses for service personnel we’ve had to deal with so far?”
“Maybe if you go back inside and give us an opportunity to discuss your case—”
“No. These two have done enough talking to last us into next year. We don’t want words, we want action, and we want it now.”
Isa’s jaw clenched as she gestured to the room. “Fine. Excuse us, please?”
The man stepped back to allow Isa and Stanford to re-enter the room. Mae gave a look of relief as they reappeared.
“Perhaps I should contact the constabulary?” Stanford murmured.
“No,” Isa replied. “There’s no need for that.”
Now that she knew the nature of the situation, she was confident she could deal with it. In fact, most of her Placement Services cases were much harder. Capricious, needy clients were the bane of her life…but angry, misbehaving manual workers?
Psh.
These men might think they were tough. They might have led hard lives, consigned by bad genetics or poor life choices to boring, repetitive work and low wages with little prospect for improvement. They might be salty that they didn’t have the advantages that other folks seemed to have. But none of them had grown up on the mining platforms of Sirius. Not one of them had endured a pinkie’s worth of what Isa had been through to escape slavery and a short, brutal life. They thought they were tough? Ha!
“Please sit down,” she said to the men.
“No,” the argumentative cargo handler said. “We’ve had enough of—”
Isa glared into the eyes of the handlers’ spokesman. “Sit. Down,” she enunciated through gritted teeth.
The other four men did as she commanded, dragging out chairs and sinking into them like naughty children. Their spokesman held out, his gaze locked with Isa’s.
She didn’t blink. She didn’t speak. She waited, thin-lipped, for the man to obey. Silence thickened. Finally, the man’s gaze faltered, and he pulled out a chair, the legs screeching as he scraped it across the floor. After lowering his bulk into the seat, he leaned his elbows on the table and scowled at Isa.
The five men looked much less menacing once their heads were below her eye-level. They looked out of place in the formal room, like early-maturing schoolchildren in a class of pre-pubescent peers.
“Right,” said Isa. “Listen to me. I’m going to explain your situation to you, and I don’t want to hear a single word out of any of you until I finish. Understand?”
The belligerent spokesman looked like he was about to protest, but then thought better of it.
“I don’t know what the stasis staff in the Intrepid told you,” Isa began, “but I’m going to put you straight. Someone, somewhere, screwed up, which meant that when you woke up, you were out of the loop. You found yourselves somewhere other than where you thought you would be, and a lot later. Right?”
The men nodded.
Isa said, “Well, boohoo.” She paused and looked into the eyes of each man in turn. “So what? What the hell difference does it make? If you’d made it back to Sol, do you think anyone you’d known would even still remember you? Do you think the system would have been anything like it was when you left? Of course not. It would have been over three hundred years later at best.”
“But I had thousands of creds,” one man protested.
“Who cares?” Isa retorted. “Get a job. Earn some more. New Canaan has thousands more opportunities for you than Sol ever had. You can do whatever you want here. Don’t you remember what conditions were like on Sol when you left? Remember the crowding? The fight for resources? Here, we’ve barely begun to fill this place with people. Want some land? Apply for it. Want to open a bar? Do it. Want a different job? Retrain. You went into stasis thinking you were going to wake up to the same old job, just in a different system. Instead, you’ve woken up somewhere you can entirely reinvent yourself. And you’re seriously asking for restitution? You want to be compensated? What are the chances that you could have ever owned dirtside property in Sol? You should be paying for the privilege.”
Isa paused to give the men just enough time to absorb her words, but not so long that they could think up another argument. “Right. Now that you know how things stand, you can go.” She marched to the door and swung it open
“But—” said the handlers’ spokesman.
Isa interrupted, “You’ve been given the addresses and access codes to your temporary accommodation. If you have any problems finding your apartments, you can access directions via the Link.”
Hesitantly, the men began to rise. Isa tapped her foot. Like sheep, the cargo handlers filed out. The spokesman was the last to leave. He passed by her looking confused.
“Thank you so much for using Placement Services,” Isa called down the corridor after the men. “We wish you every success in your new careers.” She closed the door.
Stanford was holding out his hands out wide. “That was marvellous, Isa. I knew I was making the right decision by calling you in. How can I thank you? I know. You can take the rest of the day off. How does that sound?”
Isa regarded him with a level stare, considering the words she’d just spoken to the five men about unbridled opportunity.
“I can think of something even better,” she replied. “I quit.”
ROCK
STELLAR DATE: 11.26.8935 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Landfall, Knossos Island
REGION: Carthage, 3rd Planet in the New Canaan System
Compared to hollowing out a moon, the excavation of the granite on Knossos’s eastern escarpment promised to be a piece o
f cake. Erin estimated they would be finished within ten days or less.
Once again, she’d had to forgo using a molecular decoupler, as the by-product of the granite would introduce toxins into the ocean, something that Dr. Ryland would frown on.
She believed it would be possible to use an MDC for some of the fine finish-work, but for now, old-fashioned chemical explosives coupled with anti-gravity excavation would have to do the trick.
Sasha had proven invaluable in the planning of the work, determining the most efficient blasting patterns, while Erin had been busy advising on other projects. As she and Sasha watched from a safe distance down the bluff that ran above the beach, the first series of blasts shook the ground.
Erin’s augmented vision filled with data about the blasts, and she nodded with satisfaction.
“Looks like they were perfectly planted,” she said to Sasha. “Good work.”
“Thank you,” Sasha replied, smiling at the success—likely glad to be doing something productive for the first time in several months.
Over the next half hour, the workers bored fresh holes with high-powered beams and set more charges, triggering those as well.
The dust was settling from the latest blasts, and the a-grav skiffs were moving in to lift and carry off the debris, when a figure appeared in the haze, striding purposefully through it. It was a man. His brows were lowered and hands were clenched. He looked all too familiar.
“Doctor Ryland,” Erin said. “Good to see you again.” Then, she couldn’t help herself, she just had to add, “I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”
Beside her, Sasha clapped a hand over her mouth and turned away.
Erin’s comment did little to mollify the scientist. “You…” He jabbed a finger at Erin. He seemed about to burst out with something furious, but managed to check himself.
Drawing a steadying—albeit shaky—breath, he put his hands on his hips and looked down as he struggled to frame his words. After a moment he looked up, his glare only slightly less severe.