by Ginger Booth
“You remember, from when they saved Denali Prime.”
“Right you are, sir!” Kassidy pounced. “You’re older than you look!”
His expression clearly said Duh. Quire was possibly the only person on the concourse who appeared older. Yang-Yangs flowed through his blood, too, but like Copeland, he opted to slowly age to an apparent 35 instead of 25. They escaped the long male hormonal adolescence before they got nanites, and had no wish to return to testosterone poisoning.
OK, that fell flat, Kassidy judged. “That man, right there, is Eli Rasmussen, the inventor of these brilliant trees. Professor Rasmussen, a botanist on the terraforming faculty, was first in to save the creche at Denali Prime! I was actually the one behind the camera. I streamed those incredible events back to Mahina.”
“Who’s the old bald guy?”
“Quire is the Denali agricultural envoy to Mahina.” Kassidy flourished another arm out to introduce the gentle gardener. He swallowed nervously and stepped backward into a laurel. She leaned forward to confess with a wink, “He’s shy.”
“He’s no Denali!” her first prospect scoffed. “There ain’t like five Denalis around Pono!”
“There are,” Kassidy corrected automatically, “exactly five Denali. The lead envoy Aurora, technician Reza, hunter Zan, farmer Quire, and the young stowaway Teke.”
“Yeah, but ain’t none of them on MO!”
More people gathered to see the ruckus. Wilder edged up beside Kassidy, and prompted softly, “Don’t argue with customers.”
“But –” Kassidy reacted, then cleared her throat. “Yes! Eli Rasmussen, savior of Denali Prime, created these beautiful trees. We’ve sorted them by application. This group will remain short –”
“They’re trees,” the very tall woman objected. “Why, are they defective?”
Kassidy stared at her dumbstruck.
“They’re bonsai’d to remain short,” Quire offered, his soft high voice incongruous in one of his Buddha build. “It’s an ancient Japanese –”
“It’s a feature,” Kassidy cut him off. “These particular trees can comfortably fit in your bedroom or living room.”
The crowd guffawed. “Lady, you ever seen a space rack?” “Yeah, that don’t look too comfortable to bed down with.”
Kassidy had forgotten about the racks, the spacers’ assigned coffin-like private nooks.
Wilder raised his voice above the hubbub. “They’d look great in my quad.”
This proved an ideal conversation starter. “Yeah, if you’ve got a quad!” “Up yours!” “Hey, we all get quads by next year!” “How gullible are you?”
Kassidy flipped up a tree tag. She spent hours developing these, with inviting and aspirational artwork on the front. All of Eli’s boring scientific information, with care and feeding instructions fit on the back in a tiny font. “Each plant has a tag. See? So this one is holly. Ouch.” Holly apparently had pricker leaves. “On Earth, this shrub was associated with the winter festival of Christmas because they’re just as pretty in winter. To go with these glossy dark green leaves, it will develop bright red berries when it’s older –”
“No, it won’t,” Eli interrupted. “You need a male and a female holly near each other to get berries. That one’s male.”
Kassidy couldn’t help pausing to laugh in her hand. “OK, Eli. Tell us. Inquiring minds want to know. Where exactly does this plant tell you it’s a boy?”
Eli flushed a little. He wasn’t one to enjoy teasing and ridicule about his life work. “Its flowers. Are male.”
“They have little dongs or something?” a new heckler asked, an urb convict by the look of him, as Earth-normal in build as Kassidy, Eli, and Wilder.
A quick glance confirmed that Eli was in no mood to field this question. “Well, for those of us who don’t read flowers,” Kassidy called out, “it says right here on the back, that this is a male holly bush.” This elicited a few more guffaws.
“For them as can read,” another stretch called out. “Screw this!”
Many turned away in disgust along with him, heading back to the bar.
“There’s a picture on the front!” Kassidy cried. “And your tab can read the rest for you! And we’re right here to help you make your selections.” She moved desperately to another clump. “Now this group is intended to be tall. They’d be perfect here in the concourse, or any public area!”
“You’re Kassidy Yang!” a tall tough yelled. “She’s the Yang-Yang!”
Kassidy swallowed. “Right you are, sir! Do you remember my adventure broadcasts –”
“You’re the richest bitch on Mahina!”
“That’s not true,” Kassidy reacted, then recalled that thing about not arguing with customers. And she used to be so good with fans. “The new government took –” Fortunately she stopped herself before she said anything too damning, and turned it into a question instead. “Are any of you Carmack supporters?”
“YES!” “Hell, no!” “Burke!” “CARMACK!”
She suspected the Spiegler fans were the urbs who drew back and kept their mouths shut. Carmack supporters were many and loud, and starting to shove the Burke fans.
Eli took her arm. “Enough, Kassidy. We’ll just stand here and answer questions. Thank you for trying. They really are nice tags.”
Kassidy turned her back to the crowd, shaken. “Sorry, Eli. Guess I’ve lost my touch.”
“You don’t know them,” Eli murmured. “That’s what made you so awesome, back in the day. You knew your fans, what they wanted. You spent a lot of time learning that.”
She nodded jerkily. “But these people are something new.”
Eli tilted his head. “These people gave up three years of their lives to work in space to get their Yang-Yangs. The tall ones would die young otherwise.” Much above 200 cm, stretch settlers tended to constant bone fractures and circulatory ailments, along with the obvious back pain and stooped posture.
“Ah,” she allowed. They hated her for what she and her father had done. Because it cost money they didn’t have, and their lives were on the line. “Maybe I could explain…”
“Please don’t,” Eli confirmed her misgivings. “They bought Carmack’s explanation. You’re in business to rip them off. Just help me sell trees, OK?”
“Well, you crashed and burned, didn’t ya, Kass-chick?” A smiling Commander Cortez waded through the crowd toward them. Or more accurately, the crowd retreated from her path and urgently found somewhere else to be.
“Cortez!” Kassidy cried, and took a flying leap onto her old friend, giving her an enthusiastic buss on the lips. “You look great! Wow, hair and everything.” Cortez favored a military flat-top long before the rest of them joined the shorn fashion on Denali. Now, Kassidy drew her fingers through black waves still longer on top, but curling down the sides as well, stopping just below jaw level.
Cortez bit a finger and scrunched her nose. “You made yourself even more unpopular. You’ve really lost the knack.”
Kassidy crossed her arms. “What did I screw up now?”
“Yang, I’m head of security. Want to take a wild guess how popular I am?”
Kassidy glanced around. Yes, indeed, they were drawing some ugly looks. The number of security on hand seemed to have doubled as well. She bet Cortez couldn’t move around without them. The onetime starlet forced a smile. “I still like you. As much as I ever did.”
Cortez sniffed amusement. “Same old Yang. Wilder.” The ex-lovers nodded coolly to each other. “Hey, look me up before you go, Kassidy. I’ll let you sell trees now. How much do you want for those public walkway ones, by the way? The tall.”
“These? Oh, these specimens are beautiful, aren’t they?” Kassidy crooned. “You remember how we loved to sit on the bench between the scrubber trees on the Thrive –”
“Twenty apiece or best offer,” Eli supplied.
“My best offer is to take them all, for twenty,” Cortez countered. “I bet Ben won’t let you reload them on
to the ship if you turn down a buyer.” She bared her teeth at Eli.
“But will you take care of them?” Eli begged.
“I’ll order a flunky to do it. Maybe Wilder. He usually needs his wrist slapped. Wilder, deliver my trees downtown and contact facilities to rig them up.”
“Yes, commander, we’ll deliver,” Wilder acknowledged. “But I took leave to work for Spaceways. You’ll need someone else to follow through.”
“Of course you did,” Cortez growled, with a dismissive glance. She poked at her comm tab, and Eli’s chimed with the paltry payment. She pummeled Kassidy’s shoulder in farewell. “See ya around.”
And the commander drew away, minions coalescing in her wake.
After a moment for distance, Kassidy asked Wilder, “What happened to you two?”
Wilder shook his head in disgust. “She’s 20 years older than I am. And lied about it. We didn’t have anything. Just thrust onto the Thrive together, more in common with each other than with you high-brows. Here, the new management values seniority and playing by the rules. She advanced and we broke it off.”
“Sorry,” Kassidy offered. “No more sleeping with the boss for you!” That was how he’d gotten assigned to Thrive. He denied sex to a superior who asked, then she landed up as head of the station.
They were all flying so high a dozen years ago. And of all people, Cortez was the one with job security now, Thrive’s least valued crewman. Who are we now? She shrugged off the uncomfortable thought.
A trio of miners were eyeing the shrubbery. Taking Eli’s point to heart, she drifted over to find out who they were, what they would do with a plant if they had it. She offered no sales patter, just sincere and flattering interest. And they walked away with something called a variegated weigela to add some natural beauty to their rough-hewn quad corridor in the asteroid below. No, above. For whatever technical reason, the old MO pizza box attached to the rock upside-down, gravity-wise.
Kassidy stuck to her new system, remaining low key and nonintrusive as the sunset throng grew ever more boisterous around them. Her approach worked, insofar as she sold more trees than Eli. He tended to earnestly dwell on the challenge of keeping the plant alive and happy. She wasn’t surprised his approach didn’t move much product. She’d never personally entered the banks of 3 x 1.25 x 1.25 meter coffins many of these spacers still called home, but a young Ben described his harrowing escape from one. From her chatting, she developed a fairly good picture of the variety of new ‘quads’ that offered a more social layout. These were four-bunk groups with a common area and lavatory. Each private space was actually smaller than the old racks. But the residents weren’t surrounded by convicts any more. Bad actors got thrown back to the racks for solitary.
This concourse level used to be mess halls and officer country, now all gathering places. Her customers explained that the VR game the convicts used to practically live in was now limited to public facilities. The hard-core porn version was rationed to a half hour and 20 seats, reservations in advance, but inexpensive. The more wholesome escapist destinations were offered first-come first-served. The old observation lounge and officer cabins had become a zero-g whorehouse, with a waiting line snaking down the walls.
She inquired, but the pro sex workers only served the male hetero clientele, albeit with great creativity. All other variations had to pick up playmates in the bars. Station security protected the gay and lesbian watering holes, especially on a night like this. No surprise, Cortez ensured women had backup throughout the level in case the drunk gropers forgot the word ‘No.’
Mahina Orbital moved ahead. And I dropped behind.
She and Eli drifted together to reminisce during lulls in traffic. He hadn’t kept up with his old mentor Dr. Bertram. He felt obligated while he was here, though they’d ceased to be friends. She offered to accompany him for moral support.
By 21:00, the drunks weren’t buying anymore. Eli was down to his ugliest stock, plus the edible blueberry bush Kassidy decided to buy for herself. They called it a night, and delivered Cortez’s new trees.
58
First the ice miners knocked for Willow to let them in by the forward airlock. Through the window she pointed to the station. “Go around to the dock,” she insisted over her comm.
Experienced space hands, her temporary workforce had mastered the art of flipping the bird in pressure gauntlets.
So had Willow. Not that she was in a pressure suit. She loped to the umbilical, knowing it would take them longer to make it around and inside. Along the way she checked on the engineering console. Excellent, all water tanks at capacity, the aperture closed. She locked that down. And the iceberg had shrunken nicely. She could even rotate the ship to match the station once she paid off the help.
Her gun firmly attached, she headed through the station ramp, negotiating the gravity twist with a quick hop. She exited into the docking bay and locked the door behind her just as the skiff crew approached, helmets racked on their backs but still wearing their gear. The skiff docks were around the corner, where they stowed their tack.
Willow spared a moment’s sympathy for their tired discomfort. The miners likely hadn’t been out of their pressure suits for their entire 4-day shift. She’d be dying for the showers.
Though at least they got paid. She already had Yang-Yangs. Income, not so much. Ben offered her berth back at no more than room and board, for serving as second in command of the ship. But what could she do? Cope was right. The damned Carmack government stole her idle farm. She had savings, but without income, and unemployment soaring, she’d burn through that for nothing.
Ben and Cope still pissed her off, though.
“Good job,” she noted grudgingly to the team leader, Judge. “Hope you got some inclusions.”
“Not enough,” he returned. “Any chance we can take the rest of that iceberg?”
“Sure, you’d save me the trouble.”
“Mind if I use your john?”
Willow pursed her lips and pointed across the bay to the public lavatory.
Judge glanced over his shoulder toward the lavs, and nodded for his people to go there. They offered her blank nods of respect, and shoved off. “The captain promised a hundred, sar.”
“I hear you’re bad luck,” Willow returned. She zipped him over 150, as ordered. “Let this turn your luck around a little. Prosper appreciates good service.”
Ben hadn’t left her any MO-bucks, though he doled them out to everyone going ashore. For the moment, she chose to overlook the fact she didn’t get any because she’d stayed behind with the ship. Ben was pretty open-handed with MO-bucks. And he knew how she loved to shop. But these facts didn’t support the case for resentment she was busily amassing.
“Righteous,” Judge allowed. “Thank you. Call on my team anytime.”
Willow noted he was still studying her ship’s door with a calculating gaze. She dropped a hand to rest on her stunner. “We don’t need any further assistance tonight. Happy sunset. Happy trails.” She edged a growl into the latter.
“Now don’t be that way,” Judge wheedled. “I hear Spaceways has fallen on hard times.”
“Our company business is none of yours,” Willow noted with finality.
Judge switched his regard to her, closing one eye. “They still paying you?”
“My personal finances are definitely not your affair. We’re done here, Judge. Move along.”
“It’s just,” the spacer paused to rub his jaw, “I’ve heard of an opportunity. Seems my employer, Ring Ventures, bought out Spaceways. But they didn’t get all the goodies. Like this ship. And the president’s internal capital or something.”
“Intellectual property,” the first mate corrected him without thought.
A slow smile spread over Judge’s face. Willow could just bet that man did well at the bars. He knew how to chat up a woman, and his hard jaw was mighty fine. “That’s the term I was thinking of, yeah. Seems they’ll pay big for a little bitty camera inside that h
old.”
Willow folded her arms. “A camera in the hold won’t tell them squat. Unless they like watching morning sweat.”
“Yeah, you’d need an inside job for that,” Judge crooned. “But hell, why correct a client when they’re willing to blow big money on stupid. You know?”
Willow nodded. This was simple common sense. If an idiot with too much money wanted to give it to her, why argue?
Judge shifted around to lean on the sealed dock gate, kind of slouchy and sexy despite the sheen of sweat. Willow kinda liked the way his damp hair kicked up around the temples. “Any chance you’d be interested in a drink? Not now, I mean. I need to break down the rest of that berg, report for quota, and hit the showers. I do so long for that first steaming soak after a shift.”
He drawled slowly over the hygiene details, inviting Willow’s imagination to supply just what he looked like inside that bulky p-suit. Her lip crooked in appreciation. Willow’s first husband was an old boring dork, married for the farm and his money. He was already dying of the cancers. No one was happier than she when he kicked the can early and she became a merry widow. She always was the adventurous sort.
“Besides,” he added. “You’re babysitting the ship while everyone’s out on the town.”
She shook her head, face warming to her smile. “You are so not getting into my cabin tonight, Judge.”
“A cabin! Wow!” He mock-swooned. “Some day maybe I’ll get a berth on one of these beauts. Never been inside. A cabin? To yourself? Must be nice! Hell, I grew up on a farm in Fishkill, tiny town down south. Older sister got that. Now the government stole it, and I’m up here supporting three families rego-side.”
“Yeah, I had a farm. Confiscated now. Your tour up soon?” What could it hurt to flirt with a sexy miner? Willow didn’t think that through.
“Oh, I’m a lifer, sar. Already out here eight years, yeah. Gah, I love the stars. The rock is home now. When you swing back around, I’ll still be here. Still single, ’cause I can’t afford creche for my own kids.” He chuckled. “And we know how absence makes the…heart…grow fonder.”