Eastlick and Other Stories

by Page, Shannon

  ~o0o~

  As moving day approached, our preparations grew increasingly frenetic. My new identity as Linda Margress enabled Lexa to start sending me on errands elsewhere in the station. I was terrified at first of screwing up and being exposed, but the tech was good. “Linda” passed through doors unchallenged, and I’d learned enough by then inside Lexa’s warren to make better sense of what I encountered outside it. Soon I was walking Longhorn 6’s corridors with the confidence of a native.

  Robbin was a godsend in those first weeks, constantly appearing at my side to answer questions I hadn’t known to ask yet, or to help with tasks Lexa had fired at me without sufficient explanation. I quickly came to appreciate and even trust him, but he was so attractive, not to mention so far above me in the pecking order, that I never suspected he might regard me as more than just another of the needy strays he loved to save.

  I was often asked to carry messages to members of the Food Services resource with whom we were about to swap locations—a trade down for them. They liked to complain about that, and I took care to be a sympathetic listener, which made them even more forthcoming about the larger ‘space-trading game’ on Longhorn 6. I learned tons about who had or was or would be trading which space with whom, and why. As my grasp of which attributes and locations were commonly preferred or avoided increased, I began to see how such preferences might be manipulated even more effectively, and to suspect that Procurement could do better than Food Services’ slightly larger but still cramped offering.

  I had learned that the Transportation resource was looking not to move but to expand into new equipment and storage space. The Entertainment resource had a very spacious but unneeded warehouse they were tired of maintaining, but Transportation wasn’t happy with its location. They wanted something closer to ... Procurement’s sector, as it happened. A few discreet inquiries convinced me that, with some trifling modifications, Entertainment’s warehouse would make luxuriously spacious headquarters for us, if anyone looked beyond the building’s current label to see that.

  Leery of attracting any more of Lexa’s attention, I dropped a few casual remarks about all this to Robbin instead. Two days later our resource was celebrating the announcement that we’d be moving not to Food Service’s squalid nest down in the maintenance sector, but into Entertainment’s even bigger building three decks up, smack in the station’s dining and theater hub. Lexa had convinced Transportation to cover rental on Entertainment’s warehouse, but move their excess storage and equipment into our better suited labyrinth of tunnels instead, free of further charge, allowing Food Services, who’d only been strong-armed by Lexa into trading down at all, to stay right where they were. Win, win, win. Everyone agreed that Lexa’s cleverness seemed boundless.

  Lexa, unfortunately, knew very well whose cleverness lay behind this sudden windfall. Robbin had been scrupulous about giving me credit for the idea. My reward was promotion to a desk job in the new hive, right in Lexa’s grandly expanded office. I sat all day now at a small terminal to one side of Lexa’s desk, where we could consult each other more readily about any other innovative opportunities I might come up with. And about the flatness of my chest and ass, and the cute way I always flinched when Lexa came to look over my shoulder. There were no rules in resource-land about sexual harassment in the workplace, and I soon realized that Lexa expressed interest, even admiration, through taunting and disparagement. My boyish figure might not have suited a whore, but Lexa didn’t seem to mind it much.

  My yearning to get off of Longhorn 6 altogether grew steadily. I floated the subject once with Robbin, whose disapproval was instantly palpable. Procurement hadn’t taken me in and trained me, he admonished, just to send me off again with best wishes and a sandwich for the journey. I had debts to resolve before I went anywhere. I didn’t air the topic again, but they vigilantly denied me any access to off-station communications after that.

  I had an even bigger problem here, however, than mere loathing of the predatory Lexa. I simply wasn’t formatted for a life of petty criminality. Ironically, it was the very act of recognizing another, much larger “innovative opportunity” for Lexa’s resource that brought this fact home to me.

  My interest in untapped approaches to Longhorn 6’s quasi-real-estate game was now encouraged. Lexa began engineering chance opportunities for me to chat with folks from any resource I wished. She even lured the infamous Adam Jones to her office one evening on some other pretext, just so I could listen in while she salted their conversation with passing queries about his own thoughts on space around the station. He was an older gentleman who, in striking contrast to everyone else I’d seen here, looked and dressed more like a corporate board member than an underworld boss. Interest in the acquisition of place in this inherently spaceless canister was virtually bottomless, as his talk made clear. The upper echelon of underworld bosses here controlled ample wealth to purchase entire prefectures on lots of nice planets. Yet all that wealth was just being endlessly recycled on this dingy interstellar truck stop.

  I was baffled by such short-sightedness until I recognized a subtle but important difference between myself and others here. Nearly everyone on Longhorn 6—maybe even its extraneous corporate functionaries—had been compelled to come as punishment for something, or been driven here only after exhausting all better options. The very idea of “elsewhere” must have seemed void to them even before arrival. The struggle just to survive here, much less bend this insular network of Darwinian ambitions and imperatives to one’s own advantage, was so consuming that perhaps even those who won the game were too shaped by it to retain awareness of any world beyond.

  I, however, had not come needing to stand or die here, and thus still thought to look outside the cage we shared. That simple inclination, I realized in a dizzying flash, might constitute a kind of super-power here, if used cleverly.

  ~o0o~

  That night I fished Procurement’s own extensive data banks, then reduced my findings to a single, easily comprehensible page. Next morning, I walked into Lexa’s office and asked her to join me at my terminal.

  She raised a brow in surprise, and came to lean, too closely as usual, over my shoulder. This time I didn’t flinch, and I could tell she noticed.

  “What’s this, then?” she asked.

  “The top list shows price ranges for extensive real-estate holdings on several desirable planets, all of which were available for purchase just prior to my departure from Earth. The middle list contains my conservative guesses at the likely net worth of Longhorn 6’s most prosperous resource bosses, including yourself.”

  “That’s any of your business why?” she asked; then, before I could respond, she snorted, “Ridiculously conservative, actually.”

  “I didn’t have access to sufficient data to be more accurate. This longer list down here contains my much more educated estimates of probable return over just five years on any of the investments listed above.”

  Lexa leaned even harder into my shoulder to scan the bottom list with increasing interest, shoving her breasts against my back. “Impressive, but why should I care about real estate stuck halfway across the galaxy?” she asked, breathing the question into my ear.

  “Why shouldn’t you care?” I replied, shrugging her off as I stood and turned to face her squarely. “That seems a better question.”

  She just stared, trying, it seemed, to make sense of my answer, or perhaps of my behavior in general.

  “This resource keeps meticulous track of every item on every cargo manifest, and every passenger or crew member aboard any vessel traveling within 40,000 light years of this station,” I said. “That’s how we locate what we wish to ‘procure’. The planetary assets I’ve listed here are all far closer than that. Why ignore them?”

  She just seemed startled by my denseness. “There are lots of ways to steer a slice of cargo from its intended route. We can lure an entire ship here, if needed. But how am I supposed to finesse some big chunk of Elysium 17 over
to Longhorn 6? If anybody here wanted to purchase planetary real estate, he’d go there to enjoy it. I bring items here for people who need to have them here.”

  “Money moves independently of the land that generates it, Lexa. Money’s easier to move than any other item in the universe. You of all people know that. Does no one here want to move the kind of money I’ve listed here as well?”

  Lexa grew uncharacteristically silent for the second time in five minutes. I could see gears grinding into reverse behind her eyes.

  “Every person on that list could nearly double their hoard within ten years,” I said into her silence, “just by going to see a decent realtor.”

  “There ... are no realtors here,” she said, half gaping as my point finally pierced her shield of entrenched assumptions.

  “There’s one,” I said. “This is what I’m trained to do, Lexa. Remotely, if necessary. Interested in an untapped market for something more lucrative than the occasional case of luxophore vials or taze-guns? Something for the more discriminating customer?”

  “Well, well, well,” she murmured, gazing inward now.

  I had never seen her so off balance, and I grabbed the opportunity. “I know where and how to look for bargains. I can recognize a trap and scam the scammers in this market. I understand the language, the games, the miles of documentation involved, the legal and financial knots and how to cut them. I just need you to start tilling the soil here while I get on the net and troll around.”

  “Well, well, fucking well,” she said, grinning at something other than my tits and ass for once.

  ~o0o~

  Lexa wasted no time. By the following morning, Procurement’s unlikely rising star had an office of her own. Our discriminating customers would, of course, need to feel that they could take me seriously. I even found the nerve to suggest that turning down the sexual brinksmanship a little might crank up my productivity even further. To my quiet amazement, Lexa had just nodded with a wry look of—was that actual respect—or just pragmatic avarice?

  Most importantly, my new office contained a terminal with access to unrestricted communications. I could hardly manage complex, mega-real estate transactions, after all, without engaging in research and communication beyond Longhorn 6. My plan seemed to be working even better than I’d hoped.

  As my fortunes rose, Robbin’s “supportiveness” increased. I finally got the picture when he came by one afternoon to ask if I’d have a drink with him at the Blue Muse: a pricey eatery I’d heard about, but never dared to enter, given the debt I was already incurring just by breathing here under Lexa’s sponsorship. When I reminded him of my strapped condition, he just looked surprised and said the drinks would be on him, of course. Though he also assured me that, given my amazing progress, I’d surely be settled up with Lexa in record time.

  The Lemon Drops we ordered must have cost him dearly in their frosty flutes of real glass. They contained at least a squeeze of real lemon; I found a seed in one of mine. Ignited by the liquor, his charm grew almost incandescent, and I was very flattered—still incredulous, in fact, that a guy this cute would even notice me. A few weeks earlier, I’d probably have lunged at the extra shelter his affection might lend me. But as pretty as he was, and as helpful as he’d been, he was a creature of this place which I now hoped to leave soon. I owed him, yes, but I could not pretend to love him. I laughed at his witticisms, and expressed my gratitude for his many kindnesses, but continued to pretend I didn’t understand how much more he wanted.

  ~o0o~

  Certain that Lexa would carefully monitor my off-station communications, I was perfectly behaved for several weeks. My pursuit of investment opportunities was real and relentless. I even sent a few short missives to Robbin about how exciting it was to have serious work again, and how invested I felt in my future here, hoping that Lexa would see them.

  Not until our first big transaction was in motion did I dare hope Lexa might have grown distracted and complacent enough for me to make an attempt at summoning rescue. Having found a credible real estate opportunity in which Astoria was involved, I sent them a complex contractual proposal with an encrypted link to my brief S.O.S. embedded in the yards of fine print at its end. I felt sure their legal sniffers would find it quickly enough, but hoped Lexa would never even read that far. Fine print, after all, was what I was here to spare her.

  More than a week passed before Lexa called me to her office to discuss one of our recent proposals. When I arrived she asked me to close the door and come look at something on her desk display. I walked to her side and looked down:

  From Broker Mara Sandstrom, urgent. Fleetness destroyed on entry into Longhorn space; unknown number of survivors held on Longhorn 6. Send rescue. Security here doubtful. Respond to this alias only.

  There wasn’t even time to blanch before Lexa’s backhand struck me hard enough to rattle teeth. I staggered back, holding my burning cheek and staring at her through watering eyes.

  “Traitorous bitch!” she snarled. “How dare you betray me—Robbin—all of us this way, after what we’ve done for you?”

  “How is wanting off this place betrayal?” I demanded. “I can do this work for you from anywhere, but I’ll never belong here. That must be as obvious to you as it is to me. Why should you care if I manage your new empire from some place with a real sky?”

  “Not just traitorous, but stupid after all,” she spat in disgust. “Did you really think anyone here would let someone who knows all you do about this place just flee into the arms of some off-station corporate authority? Hasn’t it occurred to you, Ms. Smartypants, what an exposure threat you’d be? If Adam were to discover this little stunt of yours, he’d have you iced yesterday.” She shook her head, almost wearily. “Galactic closes its eyes to what goes on here because we make it worth its while to do so. Astoria would have no such motivation. Don’t you get that?”

  I did now. My stomach was a cold, hard knot of fear. They’d never let me go, however much debt I paid off. They might not even let me live now.

  “If you had succeeded at this,” Lexa growled, “I would have been held responsible—by anyone here with something to lose—and that’s everyone! I’d have been fodder for the Cold Ones, and this whole resource would have been stripped of respect or leverage, and reorganized if not dismantled.”

  I glanced back miserably at the message still on her screen.

  “Yes,” she said. “That needs fixing. Now.”

  “How?” I asked, no longer able to meet her gaze.

  “I don’t know or care, but you have three hours to convince me that Astoria has been persuaded to disregard your idiotic message, or I’ll march you to the Cold Ones myself.” One look at her hard expression told me this threat wasn’t empty.

  ~o0o~

  Back in my office, I tried to compose some credible reversal of my appeal, but there was nothing I could say to Astoria now that would not arouse even greater suspicion. I still had no precise idea of who the Cold Ones were, or what they’d do to me, but with only three hours left before finding out, there was nothing to lose by trying something even more desperate.

  I’d heard more than once about a Galactic enforcement official here, a Major Samuel Fisk, whom everyone resented or admired for refusing to be bought. Local lore held him as the only corporate functionary on Longhorn 6 wholly loyal to Galactic. It seemed time I met him.

  ~o0o~

  As I hurried to find him, I kept looking over my shoulder, fearful of being overtaken by some henchman of Lexa’s, but I saw nobody following. When I arrived at Major Fisk’s unassuming complex, claiming urgent need to see him, I was ushered straight into his spartan office.

  “How may I help you, miss...?” he asked, awaiting my name.

  “Mara Sandstrom,” I said, breathlessly. “I’m told you are the only fully trustworthy man on Longhorn 6. Is that true?” Confident of my shrewdly honed “realtor’s ability” to read people, I knew I’d be able to parse his response for genuineness if I took hi
m by surprise.

  He looked nonplussed. “I pride myself on thinking so. My loyalties are to no one but Galactic, if that is what you mean.”

  He did seem sincere. I nodded. “Good. I need your help. I was brought here from the Fleetness.” This drew a startled expression. “Before I could be processed, I was coerced into the service of ... a criminal organization here.”

  “I am well aware of the resources,” he said, “and I am in none of their pockets, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Yes,” I said, deeply relieved. “I have just escaped from one of them after being threatened with execution. I’ve contacted my previous employer—”

  “Astoria Corporation, I assume?” he interjected. At my surprised pause, he spread his hands and said, “You arrived aboard the Fleetness...”

  “Of course.” Hoping my attachment to a rival company would not dispose him against me, I continued. “I believe Astoria may come to retrieve me, if I live that long. Can you protect me until then?”

  “I’m glad you came to me,” he said reassuringly. “I do know people who can help you. I’ll escort you to them personally.”

  “I would be so grateful,” I said.

  He touched his desk display, and a functionary entered. After instructing the man to notify my prospective protectors of our imminent arrival, he turned back to me and said, “Shall we go?”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “No need for thanks,” he said. “This is what I’m here for.”

  ~o0o~

  Neither the furtive route we traveled, nor the dark, deserted service tunnel to which he led me aroused my suspicion. We were here to hide me. Of course it would be done secretively, far from prying eyes. Not until the two forbidding men who met us there grabbed hold of me and clapped my arms into restraints did I understand I’d been betrayed.

  “Who are you?” I demanded of my captors, tugging at my bonds to no avail.