by Kelly Jensen
“How scarred are you?” Price asked.
Gael coughed over his mouthful of tea. “Are we talking mental or physical scars here?”
Price laughed.
Managing a chuckle, Gael took another sip of his tea and swallowed. “What are we talking about?”
“Okay, hear me out before you say no.”
“How about I just say no now.”
“This could work for you, man. Like I said, you’re pretty, and you’re not as fucked up as most.”
“Oh hell no.”
“I’ll take the damn gun, but you need to listen to me.”
Gael held his breath.
“There are a lot of lonely colonists out there, and some are on dust balls so remote, they’ve got next to no chance of finding a partner.”
“I’m excited already.”
“Shut up and listen. You’re a nice guy, Gael. You’re clean.” As in he’d never used and hadn’t been too roughly used. His scars were more mental than physical. “That in itself is a miracle. And you’re good in a way that makes no fucking sense. You don’t belong here. You never did. Julius knows it, I know it. Even your brother knew it when he wasn’t breaking everything around you.”
Pain slashed through Gael’s heart.
“We could try to get you an indenture, but if you didn’t end up cracking rocks down a deep, dark hole, you’d probably find yourself running through another slum, carrying another bag of gun parts. This, though.” Price put his mug aside and spread his hands. “Imagine it. A new colony, far end of the galaxy. Wide-open spaces. Fields and trees and water that doesn’t taste like my grandmother’s backside. Sunlight.” The mythical thing only the overcity citizens ever got to see. “Sky.” Another legend. “Space, man. Enough space to swing your arms without knocking anything down.”
“If it’s so good, why aren’t you signing up?”
“And give up my business?”
Gael scoffed. “Okay, so who’s out there looking for pretty young failures like myself?”
“Everyone. I checked it out for another client. There are people who just want a friend, and who are willing, and stupid enough, to pay for one.” He picked up his mug and waved it, sending tea sloshing up the sides. “You can’t incubate any babies, so that’s going to narrow your field.”
“I dunno, Price, this—”
“Seriously, man, some of them only want a companion. It probably means sex, but every profile is tagged. You can make your preferences as simple as you want. Though you’d up your hit rate if you were willing to—”
“How long would it take?”
“To set you up? We can do it now.”
“No, I meant for someone to offer me a contract.”
“Depends. We might find an ad today you want to respond to, or someone might take one look at your face and make an offer.”
Gael’s gut squirmed. “I dunno. How is this any different from an indenture?”
“It’s not cracking rocks in an asteroid belt or chipping ice from a moon. It’s not running errands for a psychopath like Julius Trass, and with as far out as some of these contracts are, it wouldn’t be worth his time to follow you. Commonwealth jurisdiction doesn’t extend as far as most people think. There’s the whole rest of the galaxy out there.”
The tension gripping all Gael’s limbs abated slightly.
“Oh, and I saved the best part for last.”
“What’s that?”
“A lot of the contracts are for a single year.”
“A year! Seriously, why isn’t everyone doing this?”
“Not everyone is willing to pack up and cross the galaxy without a return ticket. Some of these colonies are pretty remote. They can be primitive too. Low tech. No network, no access to news nets. Little automation.” Sounded like Price’s personal nightmare. “Being that far away could have its perks, though. Like I said, the Commonwealth doesn’t extend that far. Pick somewhere outside its borders and you could literally fall off the map. That thought might scare most folk, but I’m thinking that’s exactly what you need.”
To fall off a map? Gael sipped his hot tea and let silence rise between them. Well, quiet. It was never silent in the undercity. Water dripped from the faucet behind them, and the kettle continued issuing arrhythmic burps. Outside the shop, the grind of life pushed through the city like the ever-present soot and dust.
He’d promised Loic he’d take him to the ocean one day. That they’d both go. Find a corner of Zhemosen where the city gave way to the sand and a man could look up and see sky. The sun everyone swore by. They hadn’t dared dream further, of getting out to one of the island chains looping across the vast oceanic planet. Of seeing actual trees, grass, live animals bigger than a rat and not half as vicious. Of eating things that grew out of the ground. Nor had they dreamed of heading out into the stars they’d never seen, or to far-off colonies where he had always supposed people lived fairy-tale lives.
How primitive would these places be? Life beneath the city was pretty basic, but less complicated would be good. To not look over his shoulder every minute would be more than good.
Gael drained his cup and set it aside. “One year?” So he might have to have sex. It’d be with a single person, and he’d know their preferences beforehand. Hell, if every day was the same as the day before, he could do two years, three, especially if he got to see the sky.
“Best case, but, yeah.”
“How will I get through security at the shuttle port?”
“Let me take care of that.”
“And I could get far enough away that Trass wouldn’t find me?”
“If I were you, right now I’d be more worried about whoever shot your target.”
“Burning sun.” Gael shook his head. “Have you ever heard of that happening?”
“Doubling up on a job? Sure, happens all the time. Conflicting contracts, mistakes. Maybe Trass knew you couldn’t do it and sent someone along to babysit you.”
Which meant Rufus had probably done it, and that meant he really, really couldn’t go back.
“Okay, how do we do this contract thing?”
Price leaned over to grab a small holo terminal balanced on the side of the table behind him. He tapped his temple and the embedded disk flickered. A keyboard materialized in the air in front of him. “Ever had an official ID?”
Gael shook his head.
“Then that’s our first step.” Price started typing. “You’ll be a new person. A real person.”
Gael rubbed his thumb over his palm, as though expecting his skin to have changed, and was slightly disappointed to discover he already felt real, whatever that meant. “What are you gonna get out of this?”
“Probably a busted face.” Price rubbed a pudgy hand across his mouth. “Ah, sun, Gael, not everything comes out even. You’ll owe me for this. But of all the people I’ve helped, and there have been a few, you’re the most likely to remember. You always have before.”
“If I’m gone out there somewhere, I might never be able to return the favor.”
“And I’ll be thanking the burning ring of sand around this forsaken city that you’ll never be able to bang on my door again.”
Gael shook his head and turned a rueful smile toward his stained shoes. “Okay.” He blew out a breath. “Okay. Let’s get this done.”
Alkirak
Bram swiped left, bringing up the next holo. The suit on display glowed for about a second before the skin faded to reveal the skeleton and nerves—articulated joints, feedback wiring, environmental processing, and several intricate functions that invited him to “tap here” for more detail.
“Ah, the Corpse Reviver. Good choice.”
Bram glanced across the bar at Maialen, proprietor of Alkirak’s best (and only) saloon, manager of the company store, postmaster, and general busybody.
“Corpse Reviver?” he repeated.
“All the CR series have built-in defibrillators, guarantee you can drink your sweat and piss for ten day
s without poisoning yourself, and are rated for up to twenty-five hours in low-oxygen environments.”
Accepting the invitation hovering over the air filtration system, Bram tapped the holo, expanding the schematic. “Huh. Says here it’s rated zero twenty.”
“Yep.”
Over twenty hours below the green zone without a tank? Bram whistled softly. Then he checked the price and whistled again, less softly. “Holy hands.”
Maia reached around to tap one of the wrist joints. “And for that price it’ll even cut off your hand if you tear a hole in one of the gloves.”
Bram winced. In his lap, his other hand throbbed, the knuckle joint still swollen and purple. “Not a new feature, Maia. If I had a credit for every miner missing a hand or a leg due to a suit amputation, I could probably order one of these and a spare.”
He enlarged the filtration system once more and looked for clues as to how it worked. If he could duplicate it, he might not have to buy a new suit. Of course, the manufacturer gave nothing away but trademarked terms for top-secret technology: Accu-Filt and ZoneBlock.
“Find something down in that trench of yours?”
Scowling at the familiar voice, Bram pinched the display closed and swiped down, switching back to a more mundane list of supplies. He glanced up at the man standing too far inside his space. “Orfeo.”
Mouth twisting into a sardonic grin, Orfeo returned his greeting. “Abraham.”
While Maia held the lease to most of the profitable businesses in Landing, Alkirak’s one and only town, her brother Orfeo was the company’s man on the ground. A forty-year man, he had the classic look of an ex-miner—big, broad, and well used—with the added distinction of having all of his limbs. Hands and feet too. In contrast, Maia was a tiny woman. They were clearly related, though. Both were adept at sticking their noses into other people’s business.
Maia pushed back from the bar. “I’m going to go start packing your order, Bram.” Her gaze flicked back and forth between them. “You two play nice now.”
Orfeo picked up Bram’s empty glass. “Want another?”
“You buying?”
Without answering, Orfeo moved behind the bar and over to the small array of taps. He didn’t ask what Bram wanted. He never did. Orfeo had the attitude of a man who knew what everyone wanted. It made him a good mayor. Not so good a lover.
But any resentment Bram held toward Orfeo had little to do with their sexual history. Nor did it have anything to do with the fact Orfeo remained a company man, while Bram was now a colonist—officially retired, though still beholden in myriad small ways to the Muedini Corporation.
It was that attitude. More than a third of Muedini’s recruits didn’t make it past five years—half a single term. Mining accidents were common. Maia had lost her wife to one. They all worked in dangerous environments where losing a hand or a leg to suit seals was the least of their worries.
Bram had managed three contracts—three terms—before taking his retirement package.
Having served four contracts, Orfeo was something of a legend, and now in charge of the only town on a planet so far from civilization that electronic mail took between ten and twelve hours to arrive—on a good day. Might not sound like an illustrious post, but on Alkirak, he was the man, and he never let anyone forget it.
Orfeo set the refilled glass on the bar and nodded toward the hand Bram thought he had hidden in his lap. “What happened to your finger?”
“Tried to use it as an anchor.”
“Must have been a good find.”
Bram shrugged, unwilling to give anything away—especially when he didn’t know what he had yet. “Rocks, some iron, more rocks, more iron. Some minerals. I’ll need to extract a sample before I know what all is down there. Probably nothing to ping Muedini’s interest.”
Orfeo’s eyebrows rose. “You know we found a huge deposit of trellacite near the equator? What you have could be related. Your ditch is over that way, isn’t it?”
Rather than growl, Bram took a sip of his beer. It wasn’t that he objected to Henderson Crevasse, the site of his farm—his home—being referred to as a ditch, but . . . he’d named the damn thing after one of his grandmothers, the woman who’d sent fifteen-year old Bram off to the stars to find his fortune. So, fuck it, yeah, he objected to his home being referred to as a ditch.
“Henderson is about four hundred kilometers north of the equator,” he said, putting his glass back down.
“That could make it a mighty big deposit. The company’s going to be interested in that.”
“Trellacite deposits rarely extend beyond a kilometer or two. I seriously doubt whatever I’ve found is part of Muedini’s cluster.”
“Well, keep me informed,” Orfeo said, knocking his knuckles against the top of the bar. “And if it doesn’t pan out, I can get you a contract working the Muedini site.”
“I’ve got a farm to farm.”
“Not making you any money, though, is it?”
Not yet. Wasn’t making Orfeo any money, either, which might have been more to the point. As a thirty-year man, Bram’s bonuses had far outstripped those of a new recruit. Company structure had given Orfeo a slice of that.
“I’ll take your silence as a no.” Orfeo glanced over his shoulder and leaned in. “I can get you in a speculative deal. You’d have to act fast, but I can put in a good word.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Cliver is putting together a group claim for the top end of Landing Crevasse.”
“Muedini already mined most of Landing.”
“Only the big stuff. There could be other stuff down there. Smaller, more valuable minerals. Something like what you found.”
“I think I’ll stick to what I’ve got for now.” Bram lifted his glass. “Thanks for the beer.”
Orfeo sat back, his expression flat. “I’ll add it to your tab.”
Shaking his head, Bram collected his holo terminal and went to claim a table far, far away from the bar. The early-afternoon crowd was about as limp as the air circulating beneath the oversized fans set into the rock ceiling. Colonists on a planet like Alkirak didn’t have a lot of time to sit around drinking.
After he was sure Orfeo wasn’t going to follow him, Bram flipped open the terminal and activated the display. He checked his supply list, half of which was grayed out, indicating Maia would have to order that specific product down from Orbital or farther out, then minimized that window and looked at the small row of icons arranged across the bottom of the display.
He considered the heart-shaped one for about half a minute before touching the center with a fingertip. The heart expanded, taking up most of the display, and then dissolved into floating letters welcoming him to Heart Companions.
Bram peered through the holo first, making sure he was alone. Then he poked the message icon. His inbox was empty. Damn. Sighing, Bram sat back in his chair, deflated. He’d really thought he and SamXY113 might have connected.
Apparently not.
Finding sex at the ass end of the galaxy wasn’t hard. By the time second shift ended, Maia’s saloon would be full of miners looking to scratch that particular itch, sometimes with the same partner. Usually not. The love lives of a number of the colonists were tangled together in complicated diagrams.
Bram had had one partner all his time on Alkirak. Orfeo pretended to be offended they didn’t hook up more frequently, but they both knew their thing wasn’t really a thing. It’d been convenient when they’d both been mining. Now, they both had other choices. Well, Orfeo did. Bram wanted something else. Something other than just sex.
Maia arrived with a handheld. “I don’t have any of the F-series drill bits you want, and we’re all out of wheat flour.” She glanced up. “Wheat flour costs a ton to ship, hon. What do you want it for?”
“I miss bread.”
“I got rice cakes. Chago’s rice fields are really coming along. Are you growing rice?”
“Some, but I want bread. Not crunchy
bits of nothing.”
He might have to start researching soy flour. Accessing his copy of the list, Bram listened as Maia told him what else he’d have to wait for. Which was just about everything. Life in the outer colonies wasn’t particularly convenient. They agreed on a price and settled. Bram transferred the credits, closed out the order, and looked up. “Noah been around?”
From Maia’s expression, he’d failed at keeping a casual tone. “Orfeo will be so disappointed.”
“Leave it out. You know there’s nothing between us.” Nothing but possible complication, and tonight Bram wanted easy. Noah’s middle name might as well be easy.
She huffed softly and pulled out a chair. “Noah hasn’t been in since he got married.”
“He what?”
“Married. A woman he lured out here with a contract.” There went his evening plans. “She’s already expecting.”
“Huh,” Bram murmured, rubbing the side of his head.
“Aw, honey, were you two friends?”
“Not really, I just . . .” Had thought maybe they could be. Bram hid his expression behind his glass before deciding to drink the beer. All of it, swallowing only twice as he encouraged the weak alcohol toward his gut. He set the glass back down with a bang. “Could I get another?”
“I’ve got whiskey if you want to get drunk.”
“Local or imported?” He obviously wasn’t going to be getting another sort of happy that evening.
Maia scowled. “No one has suggested using it as degreaser yet.”
Local, then. “Sure, I’ll take a shot.” He already felt poisoned, anyway. “I had no idea he was into women.”
“Some folks are from those worlds where ‘natural ovens are the best ovens.’”
“Ovens?”
Standing, Maia swirled one hand in front of her midsection.
Bram grunted. He was from one of those worlds. He gestured toward the bar, and Maia went to get him his whiskey. She was a lot more accommodating than Orfeo.
Maia returned with a small glass and set it on the table. “Tell me what you think of this.”
Bram picked up the glass and swallowed the curiously dark liquid inside. Fire burned a path down this throat. “Holy hands,” he croaked. He dropped the glass on the table and put both hands on the stained metal surface, steadying himself as his head took off in one direction and his body another.