by M. D. Cooper
Sasha sat down and studied the globe of Carthage that Erin had opened above the desk. “Have you found any possibilities yet?”
“No, and you know what? I’m not even going to try. The promontory here on Knossos is the best spot. We both know it. This isn’t just an SATC, but the planetary defense center. Placement is crucial.”
“So you’re going to override that stuffy scientist’s objections? Good. Carthaginians’ safety takes priority. He can always start another fish farm or whatever it is that he does. He said himself there were plenty of places that are still deserted.” She added, giggling, “Plenty of places he can go skinny dipping in private.”
“I probably shouldn’t have told you about that. No, I’m not going to insist he move away either. Something occurred to me when he came over to complain about the vibrations. There’s something else we could use, something that won’t cause the slightest vibration, and in fact would make the job much faster, easier, and simpler. The only problem is, I need permission from Governor Richards. I’m not sure she’ll give it, but she might—especially when I tell her about the near-disaster we had today. If she does, we can complete a week’s worth of excavating in a few minutes.”
“Minutes? What could we use that would do that?” Sasha asked. Then realization hit, and her eyes widened. “Do you really think the governor will let us use that?”
“The more I think about it, the more I believe there’s a good chance she will. She’ll totally understand the urgency of the project, and if there was ever the perfect place to use the technology, this is it. Whatever we do inside the granite of Knossos will be entirely hidden from prying eyes.”
“Right.” Sasha bit her lip. “But…”
“What? You think we shouldn’t use it? Don’t worry about saying what you think, Sasha. I want to hear it.”
“Aren’t you at least a little bit worried about what could happen with that tech? What if it got out of hand? I’ve heard stories. There are reasons why that type of research was outlawed in Sol. I feel nervous just knowing we carted it around with us on the Intrepid.”
“No, the prospect of the picotech getting out of control isn’t a concern. Those stories you heard are from a long, long time ago. The use of it in the Battle of Victoria and then at Bollams’s World was a sad necessity, not an accident.
“But the fact that we’ve been able to harness it so well proves that there’s no pico doing anything except exactly what it’s set up to do. On the other hand, that isn’t to say we can be casual about it. If it were to fall into the wrong hands, it would be disastrous. That’s what the governor is going to be concerned about.”
Sasha’s lips twisted, and she appeared unconvinced. “What about the Transcend? We know they’re watching us from beyond the heliosphere.”
“Right, we need to keep any use of the picotech invisible. We can’t build a city in hours—or my shipyards, for that matter—however useful that might be. But at the SATC site, we’d be using it under hundreds of tons of rock, and the gas plumes obscure the site much of the time. The Transcend—or anyone else—would have to use direct active scan to even guess at what we’re doing.”
“But what if someone on Carthage wanted to steal it?” Sasha asked.
“I don’t think that’s very likely,” Erin replied. “The danger of a Carthaginian stealing the picotech is probably nonexistent. We’re among friends here. But we’ll take all necessary precautions to protect it anyway. It isn’t the kind of stuff you want to leave lying around.”
“OK. So stuffy scientist and picotech it is. I’m excited. I’ve never seen picotech in use before. And maybe our local marine biologist might flash us when he goes for a swim.”
Erin rolled her eyes. “Really wishing I hadn’t told you that.”
“I’m glad you did. That’s how I’ll imagine him the next time he comes over harrumphing and grumbling, as I’m sure he will. So you’re going to message the governor?”
“I am,” Erin replied. “I’ll send a packet later today. I think she was on her way to inspect the moons of Roma, but she’s been taking some detours, so I don’t know exactly how long it’ll take to reach her. I imagine that she’ll probably want to think about it for a while, too. Hopefully we’ll have her answer in a few hours, or a day at worst.”
“Is something wrong?” Sasha asked.
Erin realized she was scowling. “Uh, no, just something my AI said.”
DATE NIGHT
STELLAR DATE: 11.28.8935 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Landfall, Knossos Island
REGION: Carthage, 3rd Planet in the New Canaan System
Isa couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d been on a blind date, or any date, or even had a romantic flirtation. She hadn’t been close to anyone in that way since coming out of stasis upon the Intrepid’s arrival at Carthage.
Her former lover had decided to remain on Victoria, and it had taken her a while to move on from the sad and painful parting. That was the problem with moving to a brand new colony: leaving people behind meant never seeing them again. Granted, had the Intrepid not hit Kapteyn’s Streamer and jumped forward five thousand years, it would have been possible to return to the Kap, but now there was no chance of going back.
Well, with FTL there is, but there’s no reason to do that now.
As she browsed her wardrobe trying to decide what she should wear, Isa wondered if that parting was the reason she had the constant feeling of being dissatisfied. Many of the colonists—especially the Sirians—felt survivor’s guilt for leaving. Had she made a big mistake in leaving Victoria? Was there something she could have done if she’d stayed? If that was the case, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it—especially with what had happened there. She’d have to muddle through and find a way to make a life for herself.
Isa pushed the sorrowful thoughts out of her mind and focused on the task at hand. This was supposed to be a pleasant evening. She picked out a smart, fitted, green dress, the tight bodice of which tapered into her waist and flared out over her hips before ending in handkerchief points halfway down her calves.
Being shorter than average sometimes made it hard to find flattering clothes, but she’d become moderately proficient at adjusting autofit clothing. The dress did the job, and the shade complemented her olive skin and black hair.
After telling her home comfort system to turn her bedroom windows to mirrors, she put on the dress and checked herself in her reflection.
She looked good. Stylish, but not a slave to fashion. Chic and cute at the same time. If her blind date didn’t like her, it wouldn’t be because she looked like a derelict.
She combed her hair and pinned it into a pleat at the back of her head, before pulling down a few strands to curl around her neck and collarbone. She didn’t want to look too formal.
Isa hadn’t found out any more about her date than the person’s name, so technically, it was only blind because she hadn’t wanted to check the visual on Murry’s match. She liked surprises. She hadn’t even delved into the person’s history, thinking that if she knew all about her date, what would they have to talk about?
Her stomach fluttered, and she smiled at her own nervousness. How silly. What is there to be afraid of? If they didn’t click, they could have a polite meal and go their separate ways with no loss to either of them.
Her rationalization of her jitters did nothing to quiet them.
To put a stop to her pensive introspection, Isa decided to leave early for the restaurant where her date had suggested they meet. She would have to wait a while, but that didn’t matter. Watching the other diners would help to distract her from her thoughts.
She went out and took the elevator that led to the scooter lot. The restaurant was downtown, and she didn’t want to walk the distance in formal shoes. Tucking her dress under her, she mounted the machine and drove it out into the street.
Landfall traffic was building up. As more and more colonists came out of stasis, the small city seemed to grow busier day by day. The public scooters were ubiquitous, and couples and families also took the utilitarian autocars. Isa noticed more luxurious, private transportation in the streets too, but the traffic wasn’t so bad as to delay her.
She pulled up outside the restaurant in under ten minutes. She dismounted and parked the scooter in the street. The restaurant could only be described as ‘swanky’.
At its entrance, a human maître d’ greeted her.
Sure is an upmarket place.
“Good evening,” the man said. “Do you have a reservation?”
“I don’t, but I think my friend made one.” She gave the name, and the maître d’ called a waiter—another real live person—to escort her to a table. The waiter pulled out her chair and tucked it under her as she sat.
Isa gazed down. On the snowy white tablecloth in front of her were a bewildering number of knives, forks, and spoons, and above them stood three separate glasses. It was like she’d stumbled into a sim.
She’d never been in such a classy place; the Edeners—
Isa shook her head. There were no Edeners anymore. They were all colonists now. Either way, they’d never unveiled this level of finery at Kapteyn’s Star. She wondered if they’d held back because they hadn’t wanted to share, or if it was because of the tech-restrictions that governor Markus had imposed to keep the Edener culture from subsuming the Noctus.
We few Noctus that came to New Canaan are all that remains of our people now.
Her idea that arriving early would quell her unease had been way off mark. What was she doing there? She was an unemployed nobody from a dead culture. She’d grown up on the mining platforms of Sirius, where people didn’t even dream of such luxury. Isa thanked the stars that she’d put on a half-decent dress. At least she could pretend she wasn’t entirely out of place.
The waiter was politely hovering, and Isa ordered some wine. She had no idea what to choose, so she randomly pointed at the menu. When was the last time she’d drunk wine? She couldn’t remember. She looked around. The place was entirely empty. So much for her plan to distract herself by watching the other diners.
When her wine arrived, she gulped down a mouthful. As she lowered her glass, a woman strode through the main door. Isa recognized her as Erin, one of the colony’s chief engineers. Could this be her?
The woman spoke to the maître d’, and the waiter brought her inside the restaurant. He escorted her in the direction of Isa’s table.
Her stomach twisted. This was her date.
Erin was on the shorter end of the spectrum, around Isa’s own height—a relief—and fine-boned. Her hair was dark brown and cut short, almost mannishly, and she was wearing a smart, tailored pantsuit. Her expression seemed calm, but something about her eyes told Isa she was just as terrified.
When she sat down, her deep brown eyes made brief contact with Isa’s before flicking away again as she ordered her drink from the waiter, requesting a cream soda. Had Isa been wrong to order wine? Did the woman anticipate the evening to be less casual than Isa had assumed it would be?
The waiter left, and Isa reached out a hand, almost knocking over a glass. The woman stared at Isa’s hand for a moment as if wondering what to do with it. Then she came to her senses and extended her own. She actually did knock over a glass. She quickly grabbed it with her other hand and set it upright.
“Erin,” the woman said, blushing as they shook.
“I know, you’re colony leadership,” said Isa. Then she realized the absurdity of her reply. “I mean, I’m Isa,” she amended.
“I—” Erin’s tense expression broke and she gave a great snort of laughter.
Isa chuckled. “You were going to say ‘I know’, too, right?”
Erin nodded, laughing too hard to answer. Isa joined in, and the tension between the two women disappeared in an instant. The sound of their mirth drowned out the gentle classical music that was playing, and at the entrance, the maître d’ glanced disapprovingly over his shoulder.
Erin was the first to calm down and catch her breath. “I’m sorry. This whole thing is too silly for words. Shall we just try to have a nice time? Someone recommended this restaurant to me, saying the food’s great, and all the dishes are made from scratch and cooked on stoves. What do you think? Are you hungry?”
“Now that I think about it, I’m ravenous,” Isa replied.
She picked up the menu and scanned the list, not even recognizing half the dishes. As she was trying to decipher the options and pick something, every so often, she would peek over the top of her menu at Erin.
After she’d done this for the fourth or fifth time, Erin noticed and said, “Can’t you find anything you’d like? I’d help, but this is mostly gobbledegook to me. We can go somewhere else, if you’d prefer.”
“No, everything looks great, even if I don’t know exactly what they all are. My problem is I want to try all of them, and…”
“Yes?”
Isa knew she shouldn’t say it, it was far too soon. But her feelings were pushing their way out of her mouth.
“I didn’t look at your visual before agreeing to meet you. I had no idea you were so beautiful,” she admitted.
Erin blinked and turned pink. “Oh. Thank you.” She lifted her menu higher.
Isa’s stomach sank. Had she spoiled the friendly rapport they had been building? But Erin seemed to get over her inappropriate comment within a few moments. She called over the waiter and gave her order, and Isa also placed hers.
She’d chosen scallops in cream sauce as her appetizer and steamed sablefish as entrée. The waiter suggested a wine that would complement the fish. Isa looked questioningly at Erin, but she only gave a small shrug. Isa agreed to the waiter’s suggestion and wondered how much the meal was going to cost. She had savings, but they wouldn’t last forever, and living on the basics available to everyone would get old quickly. Still, Erin seemed nice, and Isa had high hopes for a fun evening. It wouldn’t hurt to treat herself.
“What do you do?” Erin asked once the waiter had gone.
“Right now, not a lot,” Isa replied.
She explained about her most recent job and how she’d recently given it up. When Erin asked her why, Isa told her about her feelings of dissatisfaction, but she also related the story of the oafish, demanding cargo handlers. The way she mimicked their spokesman sent Erin into fits of chuckles again.
“I decided I didn’t want to spend my working days dealing with difficult people,” Isa concluded. “I don’t know. Maybe that was a bit self-centered of me.”
“I wouldn’t say so,” Erin said. “I’d hate to have to be nice and polite to people all day every day. I much prefer to work with machines and AIs. They’re more predictable and reliable most of the time, and they don’t complain or talk back. Well…the machines don’t, the AIs sure do.”
“But maybe they’re not so interesting—the machines, that is?”
“Are you kidding? Tech is fascinating, and it’s developing all the time. The project I’m currently working on, for example, we’re going to—” She paused. “Er, well, I can’t speak about it at the moment, but if you used the kind of toys I get to use all the time, you wouldn’t think it was boring.
“Anyway, you said you’ve been working in Placement Services since arriving in Carthage. What did you do before that?”
Isa began to reply, and their appetizers arrived, along with the bottle of wine, which Erin shared. The conversation went on, becoming even more relaxed and friendly as the evening passed.
Erin mostly asked questions. She didn’t talk much about herself or her work unless they strayed onto the subject of tech…then she would go into long, detailed descriptions that Isa didn’t really understand. Erin seemed to be enjoying herself, though, so Isa listened without interrupting.
Isa guessed that Erin’s work was classified and that she wasn’t quiet on th
e subject because she didn’t like it, but because she couldn’t talk about it; though she did talk a bit about the work she was supposed to have done at New Eden. The woman clearly loved her work. She also didn’t speak about previous relationships, though as far as Isa could tell, she wasn’t hiding any dark secrets. Maybe it was only that Erin didn’t have much in that area of her life to talk about.
The end of their meal arrived. Things had gone well—far better than Isa had imagined they would at the beginning. The two women had talked nonstop for hours, chatting about Victoria and Carthage, and Isa had told Erin much more about her history than she would normally divulge to people she’d only just met.
Erin had an aura of integrity about her. It made her easy to trust, and though she didn’t make any kind of a show about it, the woman was also clearly brilliant. What Isa liked best about Erin however, was her sense of humor. Over the course of the evening, Isa had laughed so much and so hard that her stomach now ached.
The time came to leave, but she didn’t want the evening to end; she got the impression that Erin felt the same way.
When they stepped out into the cool, evening air, the traffic had all but disappeared, and the street was quiet. Behind the two women, the restaurant’s patrons created a dull murmur, but Isa had hardly noticed.
“Do you have far to go?” she asked.
“Not very far. I’m renting an apartment near the spaceport. How about you?”
Urgh, Isa thought. They were falling into formalities again. “Erin,” she implored sincerely, honestly, openly. “Would you like to come back to my place?”
To her delight, Erin accepted.
* * * * *
When Isa woke the next morning, the first thing she perceived was the sound of Erin’s quiet, steady breathing beside her. She turned on the light, but quickly stopped its brightening at a dim half-light. It was enough to see by, but not so bright as to wake her lover.