Gravlander

by Erik Wecks

  Jo, who had momentarily been distracted by the book, felt the knot in her gut return to its proper home. She gave up trying to deny that the cargo she spoke of was herself. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  The book dealer caught her eye for a second. “You’re welcome. And keep your chin up in that corridor, and don’t look anyone in the eye. You don’t want anyone to mistake your reason for being there.”

  Jo picked the book up off the counter and turned to walk away.

  The bookseller interrupted her thoughts. From behind her, he said, “Ask for Tabbi Ohlson. She may be a little rough, but she’ll do you right, and if she gives you any trouble, tell her that the bookseller said to remember the roses.”

  Suspicious now, Jo looked back over her shoulder. “And how do I know that I can trust you?”

  “Because I’m Tim Ohlson, her father.”

  Jo nodded once and walked away.

  The bookseller was right. Sal’s wasn’t hard to find, but long before she found the place, Jo didn’t feel at all comfortable in her surroundings. Once she left the bookseller’s booth, she walked quickly into the rock-carved corridor in which Sal’s laid. The sudden change in lighting left her almost blind. She tried not to reduce her speed, but she stumbled on the uneven floor. Straightening up, she stepped to the side and paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim lights.

  The tiny line of photobioms running down the peak of the ceiling hardly lit the street-wide cave, leaving it to the flash and dance of the bright signs to do the work. Strip clubs, brothels, and seedy bars made up most of these; one sign even advertised a weapons dealer. As her eyes adjusted, Jo realized that a large number of women and a few men lurked in the corners. Jo guessed them to be prostitutes. She tried not to stare, but she could feel their eyes on her. Thankfully, none of them beckoned or harassed her.

  Jo started walking again. As she approached the low steps leading up to the red, round-windowed door, a giant bouncer openly leered at her. Dressed in green leather, with a white shirt as large as a sail, he cut an impressive figure. A pair of bandoliers and matching fletch pistols finished the look. The giant man laughed openly as Jo walked up the stairs. Jo felt her heart beat faster, but she pointedly ignored the beast as he leaned down and pushed open the swinging door to let her in.

  The interior made the corridor outside seem positively bright. The only light came from small lamps on each table, the bright red light of the bar across the room, and a single dim panel that hung above the door.

  Sal—whoever that might have been—had left the walls and floor bare rock, giving the room a natural vibe. A couple steel pillars in the center added an industrial effect. Years of abuse to both room and asteroid had left the floor and the steps on which she stood cracked and uneven.

  This time, Jo avoided charging into the dark, instead standing at the entrance, letting her eyes adjust. The place sounded surprisingly quiet when one considered the number of dark lumps scattered at tables around the room. Jo reached out to hold the wall; she felt vulnerable.

  Soon enough, her eyes adjusted, and the lumps closest to her resolved themselves into people. Rough hair, tattooed faces, metal-studded leather, and oversized muscles seemed to be standard attire. The last vestiges of home that she had enjoyed in the market evaporated. This was an environment designed to intimidate. It’s working, thought Jo.

  She felt her right hand start to shake and shoved it in a pocket on her white medical jumpsuit. She rediscovered the laser cutter there and wrapped her hand around it. Fuck, Jo, show a little confidence, she thought. Don’t let them see you afraid.

  Noticing that several of those nearest her seemed to be watching too closely for her comfort, Jo marched down the broken steps and crossed the cracked floor to the bar.

  The bartender wore red velvet with gold buttons. He had a bulbous nose, blond wisps of dreadlocks around the brim of his balding head, and a round belly. Even in the dim light, Jo could see the pores in his red cheeks.

  Wanting to be as discreet as possible, Jo found herself leaning forward toward him.

  The bartender looked a little nonplused. He squinted at her and spoke first. “Aren’t you a little sweet for a place like this?”

  Jo tried to smile casually, but she sounded a little indignant all the same, “My money’s as good as the next person’s.” Until this point she wasn’t sure if she was going to ask for Tabbi Ohlson or strike out on her own, but now she didn’t want to let the bartender get the upper hand, so before he could speak again she continued, “I’m actually looking for a pilot, Tabbi Ohlson. Is she here?”

  The bartender smirked while wiping out the inside of a glass. “I should have known. What did you do, honey, steal your daddy’s wallet?”

  Jo’s smile disappeared. Her tone became cold. “Is she here, or should I go elsewhere?”

  Almost laughing now, the bartender pointed to a booth in the corner. “She’s over there.”

  As Jo turned to leave, he added a loud and sarcastic, “Good luck.”

  Several of those sitting nearby chuckled.

  Jo walked away quickly, trying to look strong and determined. Inside, her guts felt as if she had swallowed fire. She took a long breath, trying to stay calm.

  She passed close by one of the men who had been watching her at the door. As she did, he absently stretched his arms behind him and brushed her leg and ass. Jo felt sure it was no accident. Rising from her guts, rage boiled in her chest. She had the urge to stop and yell, but she contained it.

  Keep walking, Jo. Yelling will only invite more trouble unless you can back it up, and you can’t.

  As she walked, the dark corner where the bartender had pointed resolved into a woman sitting by herself at a table. Straight-nosed with high cheeks and wavy red hair pulled back with a blue bandanna, Tabbi Ohlson left the zipper low on her uniform, revealing a long, dark crevice between her enormous breasts. Her skin looked aged and leathery, and most of the bits Jo could see were covered in colorful designs that flowed and morphed and changed. As Jo approached, the bio-responsive tattoos took on a distinctly red hue.

  Jo’s steps faltered. The woman at the table wasn’t what she expected at all. The flowing red color made her look like a volcano getting ready to erupt. For a moment, each woman surveyed the other.

  Like the bartender, Ohlson spoke first. Rolling her eyes, she said, “What kind of trouble made you come looking for someone to save you in this pit of devils?” At the word devils, the woman’s tattoos finally seemed to erupt.

  Jo took a step back and frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve never seen you in the market, and your white ship’s jumper ain’t covered in a red film yet, so you aren’t from this place. That means somebody sent you here ‘cause you’re in trouble, and that somebody sent you to me because you knew to ask for me at the bar. So spill it. Who told you to look me up?”

  Jo stuttered and pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. Ohlson’s blunt talk put her on the defensive, and it showed in her voice. “A man at the bookseller’s near the corridor. He said that he was your father, and that you should remember the roses.”

  Ohlson shook her head and snorted her disgust. “Figures.” Keeping one arm folded across her chest, she gestured to the seat facing her. “I paid that debt long ago.”

  For a moment, Jo just stood there, unsure of what to do next. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ohlson spoke first. “Have a seat.”

  Even before Jo was fully seated, Ohlson added, “Tell me your sob story, and be quick about it.”

  Jo finished sitting down and paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted to say. More than that, what was safe to say. Old words from Kolas about information being a commodity kept ringing in her head. She decided to start with as little as possible. “I need to get to Rhinegau.”

  Ohlson didn’t even respond to this statement. Instead she steamrolled on with her own questions. “So what bullshit did you tell my dad to have him se
nd you my way?”

  Jo again felt confused as to how to answer the abrasive captain.

  While she was still puzzling it out, Ohlson repeated herself in a slightly more abrasive tone. “What did you tell my dad that caused him to send you my way? Something must have done it, and you must have made an impression, because of the roses bit.”

  Jo shrugged. Ohlson was beginning to get under her skin. She clipped her words. “I really have no idea. I bought a book and asked where I could find a pilot to hire. That’s all.”

  Ohlson rolled her eyes. “My father fancies himself some kind of expert on people, but he always favors the pretty ones.”

  Here Jo felt like she could tell the truth and that assurance added to the irritation in her voice. “Honestly, I didn’t ask him to send me your way. I didn’t even know who he was or who you were when I went to talk to him. I was just looking for directions to a place where I could hire a pilot. He said I could trust you, so I asked the bartender where I could find you. That’s all.”

  Ohlson shrugged, conceding the point, but she still kept her arms crossed. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, sister. So why do you need to hire a pilot? I thought I heard you say something earlier, but it was so stupid that I must have misheard you.”

  Leaning in, Jo said quietly, “I need to get to Rhinegau.”

  Ohlson’s sharp wheezy laugh shattered the quiet of the bar. “Oh, sweetie, that’s the best joke I’ve heard all day. What kind of trouble are you in? You botch blowing the local magistrate or something?”

  Jo felt her jaw tighten. She’d been through enough today. Her hand was still shaking. Tears of rage pooled in her eyes. “Listen, if you don’t want the job, just say so. I don’t need your bullshit.”

  As soon as the tears started, Ohlson rolled her eyes. Her mouth turned to a sneer. “Listen, no offense intended, but I bet that request has been made a hundred times in the last couple of months in Sal’s. Do you know how many pilots in the last two years decided to risk running the blockade on Rhinegau?”

  Jo shook her head.

  “Three. One of them died in the attempt, and another turned around when he got spotted by a Unity fastboat. That was old Brent Milker. The son of a bitch was lucky to get out alive, and even more lucky that no one made his boat, and that he didn’t get his license pulled.”

  “What about the third?”

  Ohlson frowned. “That was me.”

  Ohlson must have seen Jo’s eyes light up, because she held up her hand and kept talking. “But … I was paid well—so well that I couldn’t refuse—and I won’t be doing it again. I got my payday and that got me my ship free and clear. That means that unlike the rest of these sons o’ bitches, I actually make money hauling ass around the galaxy. If I took you to Rhinegau, I put all of that at risk. Why would I do that?”

  Jo stuttered, trying to answer the question and then stopped. She tented her hands in front of her mouth, resting her elbows on the table and pressing her palms together. What are you doing here, Jo? This is stupid. You don’t belong here. Yet behind her self-judgment, Jo still held on to a stubborn kernel of hope that refused to be extinguished. She felt sure that somehow she would find her way to Rhinegau.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a slow, ragged breath and trying not to sob. “I don’t know why you would take the risk, but my brother’s there, and he’s the only family I have left, and I can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”

  Ohlson’s voice sounded as cold as the space between the stars. “In this galaxy, we all got heartache, sweetie. Not my problem.”

  Jo opened her eyes to see Ohlson scowling, clearly wishing that Jo were elsewhere.

  Jo took a long breath to re-cement her control. Her voice sounded almost normal. “I know you won’t do it, but I have to get there. Who do you know that can help?”

  Ohlson shook her head. “No one. Unless you got the money to buy one of these awesome pilots a ship, then you better forget about Rhinegau, ‘cause that seems to be the going rate, and I doubt you can even come close to affording that.”

  Frustration got the better of Jo, and she blurted, “What am I supposed to do?”

  Ohlson’s voice became quiet. The display on her arms went from a bright orange to almost black, like smoke with little tongues of flame licking it. “How the hell should I know? You haven’t told me what’s going on.”

  Jo nodded, and for a moment she fell silent. She wished that her eyes could bore into Tabbi Ohlson’s thoughts. Can I trust her? You’re going to have to trust someone. If it goes bad… Well, at least you can say you tried. Yes, but why trust her?

  Jo looked down and started speaking before any answer came to her. “Let’s just say the Unity has a price on my head,” Jo continued on, ignoring Ohlson’s grunt of frustration aimed at the ceiling. “And it’s not a small one, either. Someone told me that it was so big that he was going to kill me. So if you were me, what would you do?” Jo thought she sounded a little more desperate and truthful than she really ought to, but now that she was laying her cards on the table, she decided that holding back wouldn’t be the right thing.

  Ohlson uncrossed her arms and leaned in, her voice as acidic as the green drips dancing on her arms. “Who said it?”

  “Somebody named Chapman.”

  For just a second, Jo thought she saw surprise and hesitation pass through Ohlson’s eyes. “Basilio Chapman is a lying sack of shit. I wouldn’t believe anything he said. How do you know he’s not just trying to scare the crap out of you? He tries this shit with a lot of girls on this rock—blackmails them into working for him.”

  Her eyes darted up and down. She smirked. “You turned him down, didn’t you? He tried to make you one of his girls, and you turned him down. So he got pissed off and scared you.”

  Ohlson paused for a second, and Jo again felt like she was being measured for a flight suit.

  Then, leaning forward, Ohlson didn’t bother to hide the contempt in her voice. “You’re letting him win.”

  A distant memory of Commander Kolas scolding her during a meal on his ship flashed through her head. Jo realized that as desperate as she was for good advice, she needed to be careful with what she said. “That’s close. I turned him down, but he knew stuff about me, stuff that I didn’t tell him.”

  Ohlson wasn’t impressed. Her voice sounded dismissive. “Like what?”

  Jo tried once again to tamp down her rising emotions.

  Her silence seemed to set Ohlson off. She waved her hands at Jo. “Never mind, I’m not your angel, anyway. I don’t want to know. You know, it’s pussies like you that make it hard on all of us.”

  Jo’s frustration finally escaped its home in her ribs. “All right. That’s it. I’m apparently at the wrong table.” She put her hands on the table and started to stand.

  Ohlson rolled her eyes. “You’re leaving because I called you a pussy?”

  “No. I’m leaving because I got threatened and somehow you’re blaming me. Calling me a pussy was just the frosting on the cake.”

  She laughed derisively at Jo’s last comment. “Respect don’t come from walking away, honey. Respect comes from standing up for yourself. Respect is earned, not claimed by right of your genitals. Women like you are the problem because whenever someone threatens you, you shove all that anger down inside and hide it away and play the victim, and when enough of you run and don’t stand up for yourselves, it becomes a problem for all of us. At some point, you pussies have to stop running.”

  Still standing, Jo no longer cared what anyone else heard. Drips of spittle landed on the table as she shouted. “Well, what would you do, then?”

  Having frustrated Jo to the point of lashing out, Ohlson smirked. Lifting her beer off the table, she held it out to Jo by way of a salute and spoke quietly, as if they were having a pleasant chat. “Calm down, little chipmunk. Have a seat. No need to yell.”

  She almost walked away, but without Ohlson she felt like she would be back at square one, with a threat on h
er life and no plan. She flopped back down into the seat, defeated. And how do you expect to be respected if you use your own body as an insult, she thought, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t want to piss of Ohlson again.

  Satisfied, Ohlson leaned back and took a long sip of her beer, appearing to think. “What I would do? If what you say is true, what would I do?” She turned and looked Jo dead in the eyes. “What I would do is invite Chapman to a cold dark alley, and I’d kill him, but I’m pretty sure you don’t have the stomach for that.”

  Jo felt her cheeks flush. Speaking softer, she said, “No, probably not.”

  The sudden change in Ohlson’s demeanor confused Jo. What was that about? Why’s she all happy with me now? Was she just trying to prove to me that I could get mad enough to kill someone?

  “Too bad. God knows the station would be better for it. That man’s wrecked enough young girls. Somebody has to stop running from that man. Some girl has to get angry enough to stand up to him.”

  The two women fell silent. Jo could feel Ohlson watching her carefully over the top of her beer, as if she were trying to read Jo’s thoughts.

  Why won’t you do something to protect yourself, Jo? Why is it that you feel that you have to let everyone walk all over you?

  For a moment, Teddy’s face flashed through her head. She desperately ached to see him again, but as she thought about it, part of Jo realized that she’d really be running to him so that he could fix everything for her. She wanted him to make it all better and take the pain away.

  Jo sighed. That won’t work, Jo. Teddy isn’t your savior.

  For a moment, Jo sat silently. Gratefully, Tabbi didn’t interrupt. Jo thought back to the crowd that had surrounded her when she confronted Chapman. Most of them had seemed to be on her side, perhaps hoping that she would end the problem right there. Chapman must have felt that way, too, or he wouldn’t have given up so easily. Jo reached a decision.