Sex and Violence in Zero-G

by Allen Steele

  No one knew I was out here. Not even Jeri.

  I didn’t mind keeping secrets from captains, but not when I’m married to them. Had she known what I was planning to do, though, she would have doubtless ordered me to stay aboard. Yet she had no clue as to what I was doing; she was still in the infirmary, recuperating from shock while the autodoc fed her glucose and mild sedatives. For all she knew. I was up in the command center, getting the Comet ready for our long journey home.

  We’d leave soon enough, but not before…well, not before I settled my affairs with Jenny Pell and company. Call me a vengeful son of a bastard, but nobody jettisons me from an airlock and gets away with it.

  The barge midsection was only a few meters below my dangling feet when I felt a tiny shudder pass through my suit gloves. I let go of my left hand, twisted around so I could look forward. The trunk had been released, tiny globules of liquid hydrogen dancing away in the sunlight. The pilot reported that refueling was complete. The Brain confirmed that the Comet’s tanks were topped; a few moments later, the Evening Star trafco gave the barge pilot permission to leave.

  Time to jump ship.

  It wasn’t so much a matter of jumping, though, as it was simply pushing off with my right hand and falling backward. I hate untethered EVA; screw up in even the smallest way, and you’re one more hard-luck story for the guys at Sloppy Joe’s. When I was free of the Comet, I twisted around and reached down to grab the open truss surrounding the barge’s fuel spheres. Sharp pain stitched across my ribs where the autodoc had closed my cuts; damn, some of the sutures must have ripped open. No time to worry about that now, though; I uncoiled a line from a cartridge on my utility belt and managed to hook its tether around a bar just before the pilot fired thrusters.

  The barge began moving away from the Comet. Acceleration was gentle; I didn’t have to hold on very hard, just keep my grip and wait for the barge to return to port. My only fear was that the pilot might have instructions to refuel other vessels—in which case, I was in for a long ride—but within fifteen minutes he had returned to Evening Star, making for a service-craft cradle on its south arm.

  I left his company well before then. As the barge swung past the west airlock, I unlatched the tether and let the cartridge reel in the line while I clung to the truss with both hands, bracing the soles of my boots against its ribs. I waited until the barge’s shadow passed across the hub’s tubular hull, and when I figured my timing was just about right, I launched myself headfirst at the hub.

  Total distance was only about fifteen, twenty meters tops…but mind you, although the hub was a relatively stationary target, it rotated along with the rest of the station. If I screwed up and missed the hub, I might have sailed off into space. Given my proximity and angle of attack, though, it was much more likely that Evening Star’s south arm would have come around to slap me like a flyswatter. The boys at Sloppy Joe’s would have really had a hoot over that one.

  I got lucky, though: not only did I not miss the hub, but I also made touchdown only ten meters from the airlock. I slid facedown across the hull for a few more meters—another sharp pain in my ribs—until I managed to grab a service ladder running across the hull from the hatch. I reattached the tether to one of its rungs, let out my breath and gave myself a few moments to rest, then began the long rappel to the airlock, belaying myself as I went.

  There was a porthole overlooking the airlock’s outer hatch; nobody was standing there, but anyone who was to glance out while walking past could easily see me, so I had to move fast. Just as I anticipated, though, the hatch had an outside control panel; I flipped open the cover and depressurized the airlock, then hit the OPEN switch. The double-doors opened, no problem; I detached the cartridge from my belt and let it go along with line and tether, then slipped inside.

  So now I was back on Evening Star. I can’t say I wasn’t sorely tempted to jimmy the airlock inner control panel so that I could open the inside hatch without first repressurizing. It would have served the assholes right to have a full-scale blowout. But that wasn’t on the agenda, so I hit the proper buttons, knowing well that red lights would flash in ComOps and someone would probably wonder who the hell was cycling through the west airlock.

  While I waited, I reached to my right thigh, unholstered the AFM Mk.II Liberator I had taken from its hiding place in the galley. Nasty little bastards, these Liberators: particle-beam handguns capable of blowing fist-size holes in anything less resistant than titanium alloy, they manufactured on Mars for the Ares Free Militia. Totally illegal in the Pax, of course—the Queen doesn’t like firearms better than those supplied to the Royal Militia—which is why I picked mine up on the Belt black market. Jeri didn’t know about it; she hated energy weapons as a matter of principal. That’s why I kept mine beneath the deck service panel below the coffee maker. Like I said, I hate keeping secrets from my wife. On the other hand, you never know when uninvited guests are going to drop by.

  Indeed. I rechecked its charge—three shots, all I figured I’d need—then reached back with my left hand to the small, vacuum-sealed case I had secured to the side of my life-support pack before I’d left the Comet. A quick tug of its straps and it came away easily. Setting it down upright between my boots, I pressed a button on its topside. It went red. I picked up the case by its handle with my left hand and waited for the lamp above the airlock hatch to flash green.

  When it did, I didn’t depressurize my suit or raise the helmet visor. Instead, I thumbed the button on my right wrist which activated the suit’s outer speaker and microphones. Then I stepped back from the hatch and waited a little longer.

  A couple of minutes passed, then the inner hatch opened like a rose and there, considerably less fragrant, was my old friend, the dockmaster. Still didn’t know hisher name; not that it mattered much, but I did enjoy the moment when heshe gaped at me, hisher beloved datapad trembling in hisher hands, as I raised the Liberator and pointed it straight at hisher face.

  “You know what this is?” I asked, and was gratified when heshe nodded vigorously. Good; the suit’s external speaker was working properly. “Then you know what it can do.”

  Another nod. Yes, it was a gun, and yes, it could kill himher. “Okay. Now walk backward…slowly, one, two, three, that’s it…and take me to Jenny Pell.”

  Hisher eyes widened as heshe hastily backstepped into the ready-room. “I…I don’t know where…I mean, I don’t know who…”

  “You know who.” I was out of the airlock now, marching her backward through the compartment. “And you better know where.” Another terrified nod. “Okay, take me there. Now.”

  I escorted himher out of the ready-room and into the narrow corridor just outside. As heshe went through the hatch, I saw himher glance to the left just before heshe stepped to the right. I didn’t wait for himher to clear the hatchway; the hardsuit made it hard for me to move fast, so I had to knock himher aside as I rushed forward and turned to my left.

  Frank the Lizard was just outside, back against the bulkhead, flechette pistol raised in ready position. I came around the corner with my gun aimed straight at the tip of bone-ridge between his slitted eyes. He was less than a meter away, point-blank range.

  “Please fire,” I said. “I’ve had a lousy day.”

  He froze. Whoever had redesigned him as a reptile had neglected to give him reflexes that suited his appearance. That, or perhaps he had gone cheap when he turned himself over to the nanosurgeon. Either way, he was more skunk than skink, and his rounds would have only scratched my suit’s carapace.

  “As-s-s-shole,” he hissed, then he dropped the pistol.

  And to think that there’s people who still believe that evolution is a fraud…“Okay, Frank, over there.” I used the gun to beckon him closer to the dockmaster. “Pull anything funny, and…look, just don’t try it, okay?”

  His elongated head made a quick, reptilian jerk: his version of a nod. “What do you do here?” I asked.

  “S-s-s-security chief-f-f
-f.”

  “Okay, security chief, take me to your boss.”

  Making them lead the way, I marched them down the passageway, pausing every now and then to quickly look back to see if anyone was trying to sneak up on me from behind. The corridor remained empty, though, which was just as well. I had no intention of killing anyone, but I wasn’t about to let myself get ambushed either.

  We crossed over to the main passageway. When the dockmaster turned left at a sign marked ComOps, Frank looked over his shoulder at me, as if making sure I was still following them. “Still here,” I said, then another thought occurred to me, something that had been bugging me since we’d first met. “Say, Frank…nothing personal, but why the lizard retrofit?”

  His lipless mouth pulled back from his fangs. I think it was supposed to be a grin, but it was really scary. “Acc-c-c-ident down on s-s-surface, two years-s-s ago. Pross-s-spector s-s-s-hip went down. Hull cracked, los-s-st press-s-s-sure. Burns-s-s across-s-s ninety perc-c-cent of my body.”

  “You’ve been on Venus? And made it back?” I was impressed; there weren’t too many people alive who could claim the same thing. Under other circumstances, I would have taken him to Aphrodite’s Shell and bought him a drink. “That’s tough, man. Sorry to hear about it. So…why have yourself remade as a lizard?”

  His slit-shaped eyes blinked. “Why not?”

  It was impossible to read the expression in his inhuman face, but Frank had obviously lost more than his skin down there. The dockmaster had stopped a few meters ahead and had turned around, waiting for us to catch up. “Right,” I said, then motioned for him to keep going. “Okay, let’s go. Don’t want to keep the nice lady waiting.”

  He didn’t move. “S-s-stop now, go back to your ss-s-ship, we’ll forget everything.”

  “The same way as last time?” I shook my head within my helmet. “Sorry, pal. That trick works only once. Now walk.”

  The sign above the hatch at the end of the corridor read Authorized Personnel Only. The dockmaster couldn’t open it; I had Frank step around her and press his right hand against the I.D. panel. The hatch opened to reveal another long, cylindrical compartment, its curved bulkheads lined with dozens of flatscreens. About eight men and women sat at consoles beneath the screens; the ones nearest the hatch glanced up and did a double-take as we came in. One guy half-rose from his chair, then sat down again when I waved the Liberator in his general direction. The others didn’t notice us until I prodded Frank and the dockmaster the rest of way into the room.

  “Ladies, gentlemen,” I announced when I had their attention, “please remain seated. If no one moves, no one will be hurt. I’m only here to have a chat with your general manager.” I couldn’t immediately make her out in the shadowy confines of the compartment. “Jenny Pell, if you’re here, I’d like to…”

  “I’m here.”

  Her voice came from the far end of ComOps, beneath a screen displaying a fuzzy monochromatic image of a ’bot trundling across the Venusian surface. All heads turned in her direction, but I didn’t see her until she stood up. She had braided back her white hair since the last time I laid eyes on her; the warm glow of the screens cast her face half in shadow.

  “And whom may you be?” she asked.

  Damned if she didn’t look as regal, if not more so, than her former associate on Clarke County. I’d seen Queen Macedonia only once in the flesh, and then from a distance, during a Thirty May ceremony aboard the colony: a withered old crone surrounded by cabinet ministers and members of Parliament, standing on the balcony of River House to deliver a brief proclamation honoring the heroes of the revolution. Well, here stood one of those heroes, albeit in exile, and considerably healthier than Her Royal Majesty. Once again, I found myself wondering what my father would say if he knew what I was doing.

  “Ma’am, I…” Something was caught in my throat. I took a moment to swallow it down. “Ma’am, I’m Rohr Furland, First Officer of the TBSA Comet. You had me and my captain jettisoned a couple of hours ago. I’ve come back to ask why.”

  A faint murmur along the duty officers as they looked back and forth at each other. Apparently they hadn’t heard about that little incident. Pell ignored them. “My apologies for not recognizing you, M’sser Furland,” she said. “It’s not often that spacers in hardsuits come in waving guns. I’m glad to…”

  “Ma’am, would you please come closer? It’s hard to hear you.”

  She didn’t move at first, then she reluctantly walked down the center aisle, carefully placing the soles of her stikshoes against the carpet. Damned if she didn’t have guts. “I’m glad to hear that your captain’s still alive,” she continued. “I hope she’s doing well.”

  “She’ll get better.” No sense in mentioning that Jeri didn’t know I was here, or that I was leaking blood within my suit. “You should have accepted our dinner invitation. It would have made all this a whole lot easier.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a duty officer on my immediate left stealthily reaching for a heavy-looking operations manual on his console. “No, no,” I said, dissuading him with the muzzle of my gun. “Bad idea. Leave it alone.”

  The tech withdrew his hand. “You’re one to talk about bad ideas, M’sser Furland.” Jenny Pell had stopped a couple of meters away. “I apologize for the rough treatment, but it was meant as a warning. You should have launched when you had the chance.”

  “Still do. In fact, I’m planning on leaving again in just a few minutes. Only this time, you’re coming with me.”

  She shook her head sadly. “Sorry, but I must decline. That’s not an option.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” I lifted my left hand, showed her the small case I had carried over from the Comet. “You know what this is? Maybe you don’t…it’s a scuttle charge from my ship. Removed it from belowdecks before I hitched a ride over here. A half-kiloton nuke. All I have to do is push the little red light on top and…well, ConSpace will soon be building Evening Star 2.”

  Yes, I was bluffing. The case was a pressurized blood plasma carrier from the Comet’s infirmary, its markings painted over. The red light was the release button; if I pushed it, the loudest event it would cause might be a loud pop and the hiss of escaping air. It was large enough to hold a charge, though, and I had already demonstrated a certain capacity for bad craziness. I was hoping that it would make anyone think twice about rushing me.

  As a gambit, it seemed to work. Everyone stayed right where they were, although the crewmen closest to me looked like they were ready to crawl under their consoles. Yet Jenny Pell remained unflustered. “Then you’ll kill yourself and everyone aboard the station,” she said calmly. “I don’t think that’s what you have in mind, Captain Future.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  A hint of a smile. “Pardon me. I forgot.” Then she frowned. “But neither do I believe you truly wish to bring me back to Clarke County. Call it a hunch, but never once this entire affair have I heard you invoke Queen and country. Most Monarchists I’ve known seem to think the Pax rules the system by divine right. You, on the other band, have consistently behaved as if you’ve been forced into this situation.”

  Great Mother, but she was perceptive. No wonder she had managed to spearhead a revolution almost single-handedly; she could read even a total stranger like a book. “You could be right,” I said carefully.

  She gave me a knowing nod. “If that’s the case, then we have a common foe. May I make a suggestion? Give me a minute…two minutes, if that’s not too much to ask…and I’ll tell you everything the Pax hasn’t told you. If you’re satisfied with what I’ve told you, then we’ll find a way to settle our mutual problem.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  She shrugged. “Then you can try to take me off this station. Or you can detonate your bomb, if you really wish to.” Something in her voice made me wonder if she had realized that I was bluffing. “Either way, I’ll repeat what I’ve just said. I won’t willingly leave Evening Star. Y
ou’ll have to kill me first.”

  “I don’t want to kill you,” I replied, “and I don’t think they want you dead either. My instructions were to bring you back alive, so that you could stand trial for high treason.”

  “Treason?” Pell chuckled softly. “I think not, M’sser Furland. Oh, they might put on a show trial, but if that was all they really wanted, the Pax would have had me legally extradited a long time ago, while I was living in the United States or France.” She shook her head again. “No, my former husband has something else in mind. That’s the part the Pax has kept from you.”

  She turned to one of the crewmen sitting behind her. “Alphonso? Would you please call up a geophysical map of the surface?” The crewman tapped at the keypad on his console. An instant later the screen above his head changed; now it displayed a global false-color projection of the Venusian surface, all its continents, rifts, mountains and major craters exposed as if the planet’s dense atmosphere had vanished. It looked much the same as the map Jeri and I had glimpsed in the telerobotics compartment elsewhere in the hub.

  “First, you have to recall the fact that Venusian history has largely been shaped by volcanic events.” Pell pointed at the reddish-yellow highland areas along the equatorial zone, along with Maxwell Montes near the northern pole. “The most severe event occurred about 600 million years ago, when all the major volcanoes erupted near-simultaneously, causing lava to sweep across the entire face of the planet. It completely resurfaced the planet, all but wiping out all preexisting formations. We know this because all the meteor impact craters are relatively recent and approximately the same age. Any craters older than 600 million years were obliterated by the…”

  “That’s interesting, but…”

  “I still have a minute,” she said, holding up a finger. “Please let me continue.” She looked at Alphonso again. “Wipe and replace with a real-time projection. Include most current data for surface temperature and tectonic activity.” As the technician reconfigured the screen, she turned back to me. “When those ancient eruptions occurred, various metals were brought up from the mantle and evenly scattered across the surface. That’s the regolith which ConSpace has been mining, and quite profitably at that, yet like any other planetary resource, it’s finite and exhaustible. It’s always been difficult for us to locate the best lodes, given the amount of surface erosion, and the environment has made it all but impossible to sink mine shafts into the planet’s crust.”