She picked up the suit by its collar, shook it out. It had been one of Erno's prized possessions back at Fowler, dark synthetic silk, cut to look just like a dress suit of the mid-twentieth century. She laid it back on the counter, ran her fingers along the lapel. She looked up at Erno. “Two ducats."
“Two ducats! You can't find a jacket like that anywhere in the colony."
“That, my friend, is not an argument in its favor."
Erno sighed. “All right.” He pulled off his bracelet. “Take this, too. I've got one-thirty on it in cash.” He hesitated, rotating his mother's ring on his finger. Finally he pulled it off and set it on the counter. “How about this?"
It looked so small, sitting alone there. The man behind Erno leaned over his shoulder to see. The silver setting of the ring shone in the soft light; the turquoise was rich blue.
The proprietor held the ring up to the light. “This is earth turquoise?"
“Yes. My mother's family came from New Mexico. That's on earth."
She gave him a withering look. “I know that.” She put the ring back down. “I can give you twenty ducats."
Erno picked the ring up. “No, thanks."
“Thirty. That's as much as I can offer."
“Forty,” Erno said.
After a moment the woman nodded. Reluctantly, Erno handed her the ring. “Keep it in a safe place. I'll be back to get it later tonight."
“I won't be here. Come in the morning, when we open.” The woman offered him a cash card, but he insisted on currency. She counted out four fabric ten-ducat bills, each with its video of the Heroic Founding Speculators on its face, and a few singles and change; Erno stuffed the money into his pocket and fled the shop, almost tripping over the boy on the way out.
Back at the café, Luis was waiting. “Have you got the money?"
Erno looked around the café to make sure no one was watching, and put the bills on the table. He took the coins from his pocket, reserving only a quarter. It came to forty-six ducats and ninety-eight centimes. “How much have you got?” he asked Luis.
“Twenty-three ducats."
For a moment Erno was annoyed; why was Luis coming to him for money when he couldn't even match what Erno contributed? But then he got over it. They both were taking a chance, and it didn't matter who took the bigger. At 6-1 he would clear 281 ducats. That would make all the difference in him getting out of the rut that was the Weekend
Luis scooped up the bills. “Right is right, then. I lay this off, and when we win I give you 225."
“What?” Erno said. “Should be more than that."
“Ten percent for information, and ten for risk,” Luis said.
“What risk?"
“I got to lay this off at three different bookies, my son. I try to lay it off all at one and people going to notice."
It was after 1600. “Then we better hurry."
“You wait here."
“Luis, I trust you but I'm not crazy."
Luis protested, but gave in. They first went to a shop that Erno had always thought was a virtuality center. He watched through the doorway, and ten minutes later Luis came back smiling, with a tag. “Twenty-five down on the Gunners, at 6-1."
The next place was in the colony center, the business district with the efficient shopfronts and mentally-augmented security. Luis left him at an arcade and went into a gold-fronted building of algorithmic design that dated back thirty years or more. Erno wandered around the plaza reading the quotations inlaid into the pavement. He stood for a while on “In the state of nature, Profit is the measure of Right,” by someone named Hobbes. He was loitering on “I don't believe in a government that protects us from ourselves—Reagan,” trying to avoid the gaze of the security midges, when Luis returned. This time he was not so cheerful. “I could only get 4-1. Bastards are too upscale to give odds."
The third bookie was a single person, a large man in a black jumpsuit standing on the street outside the warehouses near the railgun airlocks. Erno insisted on going up with Luis. The man smiled when he saw them. “Luis, my oldest and best friend. Who's your mark?"
“My name is Erno."
The man's smile grew very broad indeed. He had a video tooth. “What can I do for you?"
“Need to lay down some money on tonight's game,” Luis said.
“It's late. They drop the puck in twenty minutes."
“You want our money or not?"
“I always want your money, Luis."
“So it is. We've got twenty ducats we want to put on the Gunners."
The man arched an eyebrow. “Entrepreneurs. I'll give you 2-1."
“Two to one?” Erno started.
“Been a lot of bets in the last hour laid on the Gunners,” Black said. “Must be some access of team spirit, I think. Odds going down like a horny Cousin."
“Shit, team spirit. You can't—"
“2-1, Luis, declining as we speak. Maybe you want to bet a different game? I can offer 7-1 on the Shackleton game."
Luis pulled the bills out of his pocket. “No. We'll take it."
Erno was calculating what the reduced odds would cost them. He was going to say something, but Luis had already handed over the cash and received the tag.
“See you after the game,” Luis said.
Black nodded, and smiled. “I'll be here, darling—” His tooth gleamed rose, then blue. “—if it should prove necessary."
On their way back to the café, Erno asked Luis, “What was that about? 2-1?"
“The word must be out. Too many people must have bet the Gunners."
“You shouldn't have bet that last twenty."
“Relax. We still double our money. We're just lucky we got to the other bookies before the odds came down."
Erno bit his tongue. The whole thing smelled. He felt in his pocket for his last quarter. No rent. No job. His mother was dead and he'd pawned her ring.
They went back to the café and ordered two wines. Erno let Luis pay. By the time they got there the first period had started: they watched on Tony's front window across the street. The Gunners were skating with more energy than they had showed in a month. They spent as much time in the Aristocrats’ end of the rink as in their own, a distinct novelty. They scored first, on a blue line slapshot. They kept the Aristos off balance with brutal fore checking. Erno sat on the edge of his seat. At the end of the first period, during a power play, the Gunner forward leapt over the crease, soaring over the defender who was trying to check him. The center slapped a shot into the air that the forward deflected with the blade of his stick over the goalie's right shoulder into the net. The arena exploded with cheers. Erno leapt out of his seat, flew three meters into the air; Luis caught him coming down, swung him around and hugged him. The sudden physical contact startled Erno; he realized he had not been touched by another human being since the last time he and Anadem had had sex.
“You see!” Luis shouted, kissing him. What a strange place this was. Sex was rationed, money was rationed, sex was worth money, and money was sexy. Erno thought about what he would do with his winnings. After getting back his ring he would go to the clinic and make sure Alois was all right. And then he would, one way or another—even if he had to pay for it—what did they call it?—"get laid."
Thirty seconds into the second period the Aristocrats scored. The second period was fought out at mid-ice, with few clear shots taken by either team. It began to worry Erno that the Aristocrats were playing as well as they were. They did not look like a team that was trying to lose. When he mentioned this, Luis replied that probably it was only a couple of players that were in the bag for the game.
“Why didn't you say that before!"
“What did you expect? It doesn't take a whole team to throw a game, Erno. A couple of key plays will do it."
In the third period the Aristocrats put on a furious rush. The puck ricocheted off the dome of netting; flying passes deflected by leaping front liners ended on the blade of a forward just hitting the creas
e, and only inspired goalkeeping by the Gunner netminder kept his team ahead. Five minutes in, the Aristocrats executed a three-carom shot off the dome that was slapped into the corner of the net by a lurking forward. A minute later they scored on a fluke deflection off the skate of a defenseman. Aristos up, 3-2.
Falling behind seemed to inspire the Gunners, and they fought back, putting several good shots on net, that the Aristocrats’ goalie blocked. Erno could not sit down. He paced the café, hitting the concrete so hard with each step that he floated. When the clock hit ten minutes remaining he turned to Luis and said, “I can't stand this.” He left and hurried down to the arena, hoping to get inside. But though the doors were open a uniformed chimera stood outside.
“Can I get in?” Erno asked.
“One ducat,” the chimera said. His ears were pointed, his pale face smooth as a baby's, his ancient brown eyes impassive as agates. His uniform sported green lighted epaulets and a matching fluorescent belt. Attached to the belt was a stun baton.
“Please,” Erno said. “There are only a few minutes left."
“You may enter if you have credit."
Erno could hear the crowd inside, shouting, occasionally cheering. He paced back and forth, staring at his feet. If he had any credit he could just walk through the door. But his bracelet was gone. He had given everything he owned to Luis Ajodhia. How could he have been so stupid?
Suddenly a huge roar burst from the arena doors. He ran over to the guard. “What is it? What happened?"
The chimera cupped a hand over his ear. “The Gunners tied the game. A wrap around goal."
“How much time is left?"
“Two minutes and fifty-two seconds."
“Please. Let me in."
“No."
Erno walked in circles. His scalp tingled and his ears rang. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Please score, he thought. Please score. He looked up at the roof of the lava tube. The air was hazy here, the light from the heliotropes dimmed down to twilight. High up on the catwalks a couple of kids were screwing.
Erno kicked the pavement with his frayed slipper. Cheers came from the opened door. Erno could imagine the crowd, standing now, shouting, shaking their fists at the players. The last two minutes were taking an eternity. If they went to overtime, Erno did not think he could stand it.
Then came a huge gasp, an oceanic groan, punctuated by shouts and cries of anger, even despair.
A couple of minutes later the first of the people began to exit the arena, cursing, arguing, laughing bitterly, or completely silent. As she passed him, Erno heard one woman say to her surly companion, “Well, at least they played a good game."
Luis was not there when Erno got back to the cafe. Erno snuck back into his room and threw himself onto the gel mat. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Three bugs were fixed motionless up there, microcams trained on him. No one, he reminded himself, cared enough to be watching. The ceiling was made of regolith adobe, so old that it probably had been constructed by people instead of RIOPs. Those swirls and grooves, laden with dirt, had been brushed into the surface by some long dead hand. How many people had lain in this room and stared up at this ceiling? How many had been as broke as Erno? How many people had shouted rage and frustration at each other in this room, how many had made love here, how many children had been conceived, how many plans made and abandoned?
Well, he had to plan now. First thing he had to plan was how to get his things out of the hotel without Anadem seeing him. If he tried to carry a bag out, she would know at once that he was jumping. Which meant that he could take only what he could wear.
There wasn't much left anyway. He stripped and put on his two remaining shirts, and his jacket, and shorts beneath his trousers. He began sweating, and he felt like a fool, but in the mirror he didn't look too absurd. He stuffed his notebook into one pocket, his spex into another. He still had his quarter, his last money in the world.
Outside his room the light that Alois had made miraculously brighter by his touch that morning had burned out. One floor down he heard laughter coming from Tessa and Therese's room. When he hit the lobby he found Anadem sprawled on the chaise in her office.
“Your rent!” she called.
“Back in five minutes!” he said, saluting her as he walked out. He hurried down to the café hoping to find Luis. Night was falling: the heliotropes were masked. Music blared from the back—staccato drums and pipes, a song he remembered from home, the popstar Cloudsdaughter's “Sunlight or Rock.” The café was crowded, talk was loud. But when he asked around, Tony said Luis had not been there since the afternoon.
Suddenly the weight of the day, and of the last six months, came down on Erno so heavily that his knees buckled and he sat down on the pavement. He put his head in his hands. Through the buzz of conversations came Cloudsdaughter's sweet, mocking voice:
But you were sadly mistaken
And the truth came as a shock
About which one was stronger
Sunlight or rock.
He looked down the alley where Alois had been beaten. Anadem would not have him beaten, he reckoned. He'd just starve, be arrested, put into the freezers until some enterprise paid his way out as an indentured worker. Erno blinked his eyes quickly to keep back the tears.
Something moved in the shadows. In the alley, a dog was nosing around. Erno lifted his head, got to his feet, and went back to the dog. It was his neighbor Brian. “What are you doing here?” he asked it.
The dog raised its narrow white face. “Good evening, sir,” it growled. “I smell something."
Something moved, scuttling beneath discarded papers. There were few small animals in this colony, not even birds—not in this misbegotten place, where they didn't even have a real ecology, just people. Brian tensed, ears laid back. “Stay!” Erno said, grabbing the collar of the dog's shirt. He reached forward, pushed aside the paper, and there, clenched into a fist, found Alois's artificial hand.
“Can I have it?” the dog whined piteously.
“No.” Erno reached into his pocket, pulled out his last quarter, and slipped it into Brian's breast pocket. “Good dog. Buy yourself a biscuit."
The dog looked uncertain, then raised its ears and walked away, nails clicking on the pavement.
Erno poked the hand with his finger. As soon as he touched it, it twitched away. In the dim light Erno could make out that the wrist was sticky with some fluid that might have been blood but was probably something more complex. This was not some cheap servo. It had independent power and rudimentary intelligence.
Erno cornered the hand, picked it up and shoved it inside his shirt. It stopped moving, but it made a bulge that he hid by holding his arm against his side. It was warm. He could feel the fluid against his skin.
From Calle Viernes he went down to the Port Authority. The station was not busy at this hour, except for passengers waiting for the night train and aphasics preparing to bed down in dark corners. On the board were listed the bi-weekly cable car to Rima Sitsalis, another to Le Vernier, and the daily maglev to the southern colonies—Apollo 12, Hestodus, Tycho, Clavius, all the way down to Shackleton. A ticket to Shackleton cost sixty ducats. He didn't even have his quarter.
But he did have Alois's hand. A hand in which Alois had invested a great deal, maybe more than was immediately evident. The portal would read any standard credit chip.
Erno walked over to the entrance to the maglev platform. He stood up straight, tried to act like he knew exactly where he was going, and had not the slightest worry in the world. A businessman passed through the portal ahead of him. Erno fell behind. He held his forearm against his side, pressing the hand inside his shirt against his belly. As they approached the portal, the fingers of the hand began to move. Erno did not flinch.
He passed through the portal. The hand, under his shirt, froze. He strode down the tube, and felt the air pressure change as he moved through the lock to the train waiting in the airle
ss tunnel. He stepped into the maglev. The telltale at the door flashed green, and Erno was through.
He moved down the aisle of the car, checking out the compartments as he passed. Most of them were occupied by people who looked no more prosperous than Erno. He slid open the door of an empty compartment and took a seat by the window. Against his belly he felt the warmth of the artificial hand. Alois had stashed at least sixty ducats in there—how much more besides? He wondered what Alois was doing at that moment. He had probably been mustered out of the clinic as soon as they'd patched him up. Back at Hotel Gijon, could he even open the door to his room?
Ten minutes later, the doors closed, the umbilicus pulled away, and the train began to move. They passed out of the dark tunnel into the bright lunar day, and, as the maglev swooped up into the Carpathians, the earth, in its first quarter, swung into sight high above them. Erno still was not used to it; on the cable trip from Tsander he had been fascinated to see the planet rise above the horizon as they came from the farside to the near. That first sight of it in reality, only months ago, had seemed pregnant with meaning. He was moving into a new world. And it hung there still, turquoise and silver, shining with organic life, as it had hung for several billion years. It was strange to imagine a world with air and water on the outside, where you could walk out in shirtsleeves, even naked, where the sun shining down on you was not an enemy but a pleasure. But whose gravity would press a lunar-bred boy like Erno to the ground and leave him gasping.
He leaned his head against the train's window, the light of the old earth throwing shadows on his face, and fell asleep.
Copyright © 2006 John Kessel
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SCIENCE FICTION SUDOKU
This month's SF Sudoku puzzles, the subjects of which were suggested by second-place contest-winners Ruhan Zhao and Lee Martin, are of two difficulty levels. The first, easy-level Sudoku below is solved using the letters ACDEGHINT. Place a letter into each box so that each row across, each column down, and each small nine-box square within the larger diagram (there are nine of these) will contain each of these letters. No letter will appear more than once in any row, column, or smaller nine-box square. The solution is determined through logic and the process of elimination. Beneath the puzzle is a set of nine blanks. Rearrange the following letters for a well known SF writer: A, C, D, E, G, H, I, N, and T.
Asimov's SF, September 2006 Page 5