by Eric Flint
Bobby watched the station's rotation and counted to himself as it spun. He did some quick calculations in his head and guessed that the ring wasn't rotating fast enough to maintain a healthy level of gravity. Anything less than one-third of a gee meant permanent bone loss and muscle degradation. Bobby guessed that whoever lived on that station would be in trouble before too long.
The tug docked with the station and Bobby waited, feeling foolish. He had a few hours of oxygen and plenty of water, but absolutely no idea what he was going to do next. He toyed with various ideas, but only one made any sense. He would need to get access to the station and use the comm to call the orbitmaster.
His maneuvering thrusters were out of fuel so he walked carefully across the tug's nose and onto the station. There was nothing to be done about the sound his passage would make inside the docking bay, but he hoped there would be a lot of noise from machinery and the like inside.
Bobby located the airlock and grunted in frustration. It was old. There was no way to open it unless a crewmember cycled it from the inside. He would have to try to find a way in on the tug.
He crossed back over and located the emergency airlock forward of the tug's docking capsule. A small control pad was embedded in it, but there didn't seem to be any power to it. Bobby rapped on it angrily with his armored fist and was pleasantly surprised when it began to glow with a weak green light.
He punched through the airlock's cycling sequence and breathed a sigh of relief when it opened. He moved into it, half-expecting to hear an alarm even though he was still in vacuum.
The outer door closed behind him and an indicator light in his helmet changed from amber to green as warm air flooded the chamber. He retracted his helmet and watched as the inner door opened.
He kicked lightly off the wall and into the tug. There was a second airlock, its door wide open, leading to the docking bay's interior. Reflexively, he closed the airlock behind him, long years in space telling him it was the right thing to do.
Beyond the airlock was a long corridor branching both left and right. Flickering fixtures provided dim light that stretched into long, shadowy darkness. Bobby, trusting instinct, headed left. A short crawl along the handholds lining the tube brought him to an ajar blast door. He could hear the hum and roar of cutting and welding tools.
He eased his way up to the door and peeked around the corner. A number of people were moving about in a large zero-g metal shop, pushing massive pieces of machinery back and forth. They were shouting to each other over the squeal of metal on metal.
"Did you get the shield?" one asked. He had red hair and was wearing an old blue work coverall.
"Yep, we got it," a small man in a patched, old-fashioned spacesuit answered. He had his helmet in his hand and he put it down on a workbench before replying. It was the kid Bobby had spoken to on the retirement station—Tom. "Thought we were gonna get bagged for a minute there, but we got it."
"What happened?" The redhead cut power to the diamond-bit saw he was using and Bobby edged back from the doorway. With the saw off, it was easier to hear. He drew in a ragged breath and felt a twinge in his chest.
"Some old guy nosing around, wondering what we were doing. We took off while he was calling his kid."
"Wish we didn't have to steal from old folks like that," the redhead said. There was something strange about his voice and Bobby peeked back into the chamber to get a look at him.
He was young. Fourteen years old at the most and his voice was cracking.
"They have insurance, don't worry. We gotta do what we gotta do," Tom said, putting his hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah. But Gramps wouldn't like it."
"No, I guess not," Tom said. "But he would have wanted us to stick together."
Bobby had heard enough. He dragged himself through the hatchway. "Yeah, and what about the old folks back on my station, huh? Don't they need to live, too?" His anger made his heart beat heavily in his chest.
"It's the geezer from the retirement station!"
"The station you stole from, boy." Bobby put his hand to his chest, forgetting he was suited up. The pain was bad and he had left his pills in his room.
Tom stared at the deck. Both boys' faces were red. "We needed it."
"Yeah, well, so do the thousand-odd old folks that live on my station." Bobby's left arm felt like it was in a vise. "Where's your comm unit?"
"Why?" Tom asked.
"So I can call the orbitmaster." Now that he had a better look at them, Bobby saw the kids had to be brothers. One had brown hair and the other red, but their resemblance was unmistakable.
"You can't do that!" Jimmy said.
"Watch me." Bobby cast his eyes around the room and saw the glowing comm panel across from a heap of scrap metal. "You could've gotten all of the people on my station killed."
Bobby waved his arm in a gesture of dismissal and pushed off the bulkhead toward the comm, trying to ignore the screaming agony in his chest.
"Wait, don't. Please. Let me explain," Tom said.
"Save it for the orbitmaster." Bobby reached the comm panel. As he did so, there was a tremendous thud from somewhere on the station and the entire bay shifted around them. Alarm klaxons, deafening even in the relatively large metal shop, began to sound. The sudden noise made Bobby's heart leap into his throat. He clutched his left arm and curled into a ball, the klaxon's wailing adding a soundtrack to the dizzying pain.
"Jesus! Something hit us!" Tom grabbed Jimmy by the shoulder and pushed him toward the hatch. "We gotta get the kids out of here!"
Jimmy used a handhold to spin around and point at Bobby. "What about him?"
Tom looked back at Bobby. "Aw, crap. Are you all right?"
"My heart—" Bobby said, as loudly as he could.
"He's having a heart attack," Jimmy said.
"Get the kids into the tug. I'll bring him." Tom pushed off the wall toward Bobby and put his hand on his arm. "C'mon, Pops. We have to get out of here."
Bobby was barely able to nod through the pain, but he did his best to help Tom push him down the corridors. All around them, red lights flashed and the klaxon sounded. Dimly, Bobby could hear screams and high-pitched voices raised in alarm.
Tom dragged Bobby to the tug's airlock. The chamber was crowded with children, some in spacesuits, others not. All of them had various possessions clutched in fingers goobered with bubble gum, peanut butter, and various other sticky substances. Bobby realized through his pain that they were screaming in delight, not fear.
"Somebody shut the tug's lock!" Jimmy was wrestling with the airlock hatch. "It's jammed!"
Tom pushed him out of the way and strained to turn the hatch. "Damn it! Who the hell closed it? It's busted. It only works from the inside!"
Tom and Jimmy looked at each other, at a loss for what to do. Bobby, the pain in his arm and chest starting to subside, stood a little straighter. "Seal the bulkhead. I'll go out through the other hatch and try from the other side," he said. "Where's the main airlock?"
"It's in the shop, but I'll go," Tom said. "You're having a heart attack, for God's sake."
"Yeah? How are you going to go out without your helmet, smart guy?" Bobby asked. Tom's suit wasn't a one piece like his. "Just get the door shut behind me before you lose all your air."
Bobby's helmet slid out of his suit and Tom nodded as the pressure seal closed with a hiss. Bobby crawled along the corridors, tracing his way back to the shop.
The main airlock was there, just as Tom had described it, but there was no power to the mechanism. Bobby turned the manual hatch with difficulty and cycled through it. Moving as quickly as he dared, he climbed out onto the hull and looked around.
A large section of the station was completely destroyed. A big, vaguely cylindrical object had smashed into the wheel and embedded itself there. The force of the impact ejected a huge amount of debris into space and a long train of detritus trailed away from the station. Bobby could see the pinpoint sparks of the station's autom
ated thrusters firing as they attempted to correct its position and spin.
Bobby limped to the tug's hatch and opened it for the second time in the past hour. He pulled himself into the airlock and breathed a sigh of relief when the cycling was complete and his helmet registered a breathable atmosphere. He retracted his visor and instantly heard the clamoring of the children on the other side of the inner airlock. He activated the lock to the station and stepped out.
Jimmy and Tom did their best to cram the children into the tug. They unceremoniously threw out the baggage some of the kids had dragged with them, ignoring the outraged protests of the pint-sized spacemen. Bobby was the last into the tug and Tom kicked and pushed his way through to clear a spot for him. There were about twenty children and seven larger-sized teens crammed into the ship.
A four-year-old girl stuck her face into Bobby's, unaware he was about to pass out. "Grampa!"
The lights went out on Bobby Cullivan.
* * *
"Hey, I told you to take it easy, didn't I?" The voice came from far away, but there was no mistaking the owner.
Bobby felt a warm cloth on his eyes. Someone was wiping away the goo that was gluing them shut.
"Hi, Joey." He blinked up at Joe and the nurse who was behind him.
"How are you feeling?" the nurse asked.
"Better, I think." Bobby looked around. He was in bed in the retirement station's infirmary. "Thirsty."
The nurse brought him a squeeze bottle of water from the dispenser.
"Thanks." Bobby looked at Joe. "Are the kids okay?"
"Yeah," Joe said. "They're fine. All present and accounted for. The older ones are out reattaching our shield."
"Where are the rest of them?" Bobby asked.
"They're here, until we find someplace else to put them."
Bobby struggled and sat up. The nurse clucked her tongue at him.
"Press the call button if you need me, Bobby," she said as she left the room.
"Their station's wrecked," Joe said. "At least, that's what the orbitmaster told me. Direct hit by a derelict satellite."
"Oh." Bobby raised his eyebrows. "No great loss, I guess. It was in pretty sad shape."
"Yeah. I guess they've been holding out there since their grandfather died, trying to keep his little orphanage going."
"Orphanage?"
"Yeah. Tom tells me his gramps started by taking care of a few kids whose parents died working on the space elevator. They were all born in orbit. More kids came along and things got out of hand. He bought the old station to fix up, but died not too long ago."
"So now what?"
"I guess we'll see if we can find foster homes for them. They can't go earthside, not yet anyway. The docs say they all have major bone loss and muscle atrophy. It'll take a lot of work to get them strong enough to take Earth gravity."
"Yeah, I kind of figured," Bobby said. "That station's rotation was way too slow."
"You can't break up our family." Tom was standing in the doorway, still in his patched spacesuit. He looked tired and a lot older than when Bobby had last seen him. "We'll get some money somehow. Then we can fix the computers and the thrusters. We'll have our station up and running in no time."
"If you say so," Joe said doubtfully. "Is our shield back in place?"
"Yeah, we put it back." Tom walked over to Bobby's bed, dragging his feet a little. "I'm sorry we took it."
"Thanks," Bobby said.
"Hey, we stole it, it's only right we put it back."
"Not for that. For getting me out of there," Bobby said. "You saved my life."
Tom shrugged. A skinny little girl clutching a threadbare plush doggy ran into the room and Tom reached out to catch her. Mr. Silverstein came in behind her, clutching his cane and laughing like a madman.
"You get over here, you little scamp!" Silverstein puttered into the room and tried to grab her, but the little girl giggled and ran between Tom's legs. The old man chased her out of the room, hollering.
"The old folks sure do love your kids," Joe mused. "The place hasn't seemed this happy in a long time."
"Maybe you could stay here for a while, Tom," Bobby said.
Tom looked from Bobby to Joe, not knowing what to say.
"We've got plenty of room," Joe said. "You're welcome to stay until you're back on your feet."
"There's no rush." Bobby smiled and put his hand out to Tom. "Shake, young feller."
* * *
The Goblin Hunter
Written by Jeff Stehman
Illustrated by Mike Rooth
After much consideration, Adham decided greed was not responsible for his current situation. True, the job had promised more pay than any he had ever taken. Even now, lashed off the ground and spread-eagled between two trees as he was, it still seemed like a reasonable proposition.
No, the problem was not greed. The problem was that he had failed to follow his own rule: work alone. Adham had tried to explain that to the merchant, but he had insisted on sending his own people along. Even the one that Adham had talked the merchant down to had been one too many.
In truth, the merchant's demand hadn't been unreasonable. He didn't know Adham or if he could be trusted. Reason and goblins, however, had little to do with each other, and the merchant's soldier now lay dead beneath three toppled trees. Adham didn't know how the goblins had managed that, but to an experienced goblin hunter, not knowing made sense.
He could see the horses, his mule, and a pile of gear in a patch of moonlight a short distance away. Adham suppressed a strong urge to sigh. He had already discovered that, in his current position, a proper sigh sent spasms through his shoulders and chest. He guessed there were as many as a half-dozen goblins there, in the brush below his feet, and he saw no reason to excite them by adding to his own discomfort.
After what seemed an eternity, the apparent leader of this band of goblins marched along a tree branch in front of Adham. Drawing itself up to its full, inconsiderable height, it confronted him. Even in the filtered moonlight, Adham could see its determined expression.
"Out of respect for your past dealings with goblinkind, I've decided to do this right and proper. So, any last words?"
Adham thought for a moment. "All things considered, I should have gone for the beer instead."
* * *
Adham left the stable and headed for the nearest public house. He flapped his coat, leaving behind a cloud of road dust. The work had been hard, but the job was done, and now he wanted nothing more than to elevate his feet and lubricate his throat. With that goal in mind, he tried to ignore the commotion caused by a man running up the street. Panting, the fellow stopped in front of a group of men loitering outside the public house. He spoke excitedly to them and pointed back the way he had come. Adham couldn't help but overhear one word in particular.
"Goblins!"
Adham stopped and looked down the street where the man pointed. He looked at the public house door, then looked down the street again and scratched his bristly chin, imagining the taste of the beer that awaited him inside. Heaving a great sigh, he turned back toward the stable.
"Best to look for silver when it can be found," he grumbled.
Several men stood in the middle of the street, their attention fixed on a warehouse. Adham judged all but one of them to be laborers, and that one had the look of money about him.
"Come along, Maible." Adham tugged on the lead to his pack mule. He approached the gentleman. "You the owner?"
The man gave him the briefest of glances. "I'm busy, and there's no work for you today." The workers behind the gentleman spared him even less attention. They were tense and stared at the warehouse as if they expected it to come to life and attack them.
"Oh, I think there's work for me." Adham chuckled. "I'm a goblin hunter."
That gave the owner pause. He looked Adham up and down but didn't seem impressed. "I've already sent a man inside. He seemed quite capable and has a reputation for getting things done."
<
br /> "Is he a goblin hunter?"
"Thief-taker." The gentleman turned his attention back to the warehouse.
Adham stepped to the pack on his mule, unhooked a lantern, and dug out his firepot. He blew enough life into the coals to light a taper and the lantern. By then a few of the workers were keeping an eye on him as well as the warehouse, for the sun was high and the sky clear.
"Let me show you your man," Adham said, taking the owner by an arm and leading him to a door leading into the warehouse. "It'll be dark inside, so close your eyes for a moment." The gentleman was confused enough to oblige, and Adham put a hand over his own eyes. After several slow breaths, he opened the door.