by Jake Elwood
Alice skirted the perimeter of the little plot of land. She came to a corner, turned, and found herself walking down a clear path between two dirt-filled enclosures. The next enclosure held wheat, mature plants beginning to lose their green color and turn golden.
The enclosures, essentially giant planters, were square in shape and about fifty paces on a side. Narrow gaps separated each enclosure from the next, with a wider gap making a pathway to the back wall. Each enclosure held a different crop, or at least a crop at a different level of maturity. She saw vegetables and grains and plants she couldn't recognize.
Near the back wall she found an empty enclosure, and another that contained a heap of soil waiting to be spread around. She sniffed. The other enclosures smelled of loam and lush, fertile vegetation. This pile of dirt smelled of stone and dust. It smelled sterile. It wasn't proper dirt, she realized. It was powdered rock, a byproduct of asteroid mining, shipped here to become a raw ingredient for soil.
Just beyond that enclosure she reached the back wall of the forward hold. A selection of gardening tools leaned against the wall, rakes and hoes and spades. Buckets and pots stood in wobbling stacks nearby. Brobdingnag was looking more like a planetside colony every moment.
Beyond the pots was a hatch, sized for human beings instead of the massive cargo movers the main hatch at the front must have been meant for. Alice peered through the hatchway and saw darkness.
She shrugged and walked through.
With every step her weight decreased. Enough light filtered in from the hatch behind her to illuminate a passageway about two meters long with a closed hatch at the far end. By the time she reached the hatch she was floating. She grabbed the round handle in the middle of the door, braced a foot against the side of the corridor, and gave the handle a twist.
The hatch swung inward, and she peered through. There was no floor directly in front of her. The aft hold, twice the height of the forward hold, extended from the curving top of the hull high above her to the matching curve of the bottom of the hull far below. Whatever cargo it had once held was long since removed. The vast, gloomy space was empty.
Except for one man.
He hovered near the center of the hold, floating, far from any handhold. He wore a snug yellow jumpsuit, and he had the relaxed, alert look of an athlete. His feet pointed in the direction she still thought of as “down”, and he had his head tilted back, looking at something high above. A few lights glowed along the top and bottom of the hull, but he was staring into a shadowy corner where the ceiling met the same wall that contained Alice's hatch. She squinted into the darkness and couldn't see a thing.
Rubber slid against metal with a sibilant sigh, and another man came into view. He sailed out of the darkness, arms outstretched, soaring toward the man in yellow. The new arrival wore blue, and the light made highlights and pools of shadow in the muscles of his bare arms.
The man in yellow, with no way to move aside, pointed his arms at the approaching man and waited. The two of them crashed together, an impressive bit of marksmanship on the part of the man in blue. They sailed toward the distant floor, writhing and squirming as they grappled with one another. Finally they hit, a metallic thump blending with the sound of a grunt as they struck.
The man in blue sprang away, soaring up and to one side, heading for the curved side wall of the hull. His opponent sprang after him, his trajectory just a little higher. The man in blue waited until he was about to strike the wall before tucking in his arms and legs and rotating. He hit feet-first, kicking off an instant before the other man could intercept him. The man in yellow kicked off as well, and they raced each other through the hollow center of the aft hold.
A flicker of motion caught Alice's eye. A figure was dropping toward her – if she continued to think of the bottom of the ship as “down”. It was a slim figure in green, diving head-first, soaring along less than two meters from the vertical wall that separated the forward and aft holds. Alice pulled her head back into the corridor, just in case.
The stranger jerked to a halt just in front of the hatch. It was a young woman, and she held a thin cord which she used for braking. She flailed for a moment, then pulled something out of a thigh pocket and hurled it away from her. It gave her enough momentum to drift gently through the hatch. She grabbed the edge of the opening, oriented herself so she was looking at Alice, and grinned. “Hello, stranger.”
“Um, hello. I'm Alice.”
“Kyra. Pleased to meet you.”
“What was that you threw?”
Kyra chuckled. “A chunk of ice. Ice is the perfect rescue rock. You don’t have to pick it up. It'll melt and evaporate.” She patted the bulging pocket on her left thigh.” I always carry a few chunks, just in case.” She pointed into the bay with her thumb. “The boys laugh at you if you get stuck.”
“What are they doing?”
“Boxing.” Kyra made a face. “That's the official name, anyway. Not that they will punch each other. Punching doesn't work so well in zero gee. They wrestle, and then they chase each other around the hold.”
Alice had heard of zero gee boxing, but she'd never seen it. “Interesting.”
“They made us to do it in school. Supposed to teach us about physics.” She grimaced. “Mostly taught me how easy it is to get a knee in the face from someone who doesn't even see you coming.”
“It's the one thing that unites the galaxy,” Alice said. “No matter where you go, gym class sucks.”
Kyra laughed. “You got that right.” She looked Alice over. “Are you on the Honeysuckle?”
Alice shook her head. “I was on the First Bee of Spring. It's already gone. I … had a disagreement with the captain.”
Kyra laughed again, then suppressed it, blushing. “Sorry.” After a moment of awkward silence she said, “So you're stuck here?”
“For a bit.” Alice thought about Captain Grayson and what she'd said about ships being boarded, and grimaced. “Maybe for quite a while.”
“Ah, you'll love it.” Kyra snickered. “Who am I kidding? This may be the most boring place in the entire galaxy.” She glanced over her shoulder as the two boxers went tumbling past, upside-down in relation to one another, grabbing at each other's legs. “That's the most exciting thing that happens here, and it's not that great.”
Alice laughed. Small-town life was the same everywhere.
“Seriously, though, it's an okay place to live. We've got room for a few more people. There's no jobs, but you can set up a farm if you want. There's always ships coming through, and everybody wants fresh food. We're thinking about getting chickens. Fresh eggs!” She smiled dreamily. “Can you imagine?”
“Hardly,” Alice said dryly.
“Have you seen the arboretum?” Kyra said. “No? Okay, you have to see this. You can't decide if you want to stay until you've seen the best part of the station.” Without another word she turned and pulled herself out into the gulf behind her. She grabbed the cord she'd used to arrest her earlier flight, gave it a sharp tug, and sent herself flying back up to where she'd come from.
Alice stared after her, bemused. Then she closed the hatch, kicked off ever so gently, and waved her arms, feeling for the cord. A careful tug sent her drifting upward.
Air resistance gradually slowed her, but the cord dangled in arm's reach, so she reached out and gave it another tug. She was tempted to give it a good hard yank and try to match Kyra's speed, but she wasn't sure how she'd stop when she got to the top. She had plenty of experience with zero gee, but only in confined spaces, or out in the void with compressed-air jets to help her maneuver.
So she drifted along at a brisk walking pace, tucking and turning as the ceiling neared. She bent her legs on impact, soaking up her momentum without bouncing away, and found herself looking into Kyra's upside-down face. The young woman stood in another tunnel like the one Alice had entered through.
Alice grabbed the top of the hatchway, pulled herself down, and twisted her body around so she landed
on her feet beside Kyra. She could feel the faintest hint of gravity.
“Leave it open,” Kyra said as Alice started to close the hatch. “This way. Careful, the gravity picks up pretty sharply.”
Alice followed her, feeling her weight increase with every step. By the time she stepped through another hatch she was back to her normal weight.
“This hatch has to close,” Kyra said, and swung the metal door shut. Beyond lay the arboretum. The air was several degrees warmer here, and humid. Plants covered almost every surface of a long, high-ceilinged room. Vines trailed along the walls and across the ceiling. Planters filled the floor and rose along every wall. Baskets hung from the ceiling, trailing leaves and flowers. Perfume and the rich scents of fertile soil and green things filled the moist air.
“This is my favorite spot in Brobdingnag.” Kyra turned in a slow circle, her arms out to either side. “I love it in here. Can you believe this used to be a grubby old corridor?” She pointed straight up. “There's a hatch right up there. They'd load cargo through there, and big robots would take it into the hold.” She smiled. “It's much nicer now.”
Alice nodded, leaning close to a flowering vine and sniffing at a fat blossom.
“That's clematis,” Kyra said. “It grows like crazy. We've actually started digging it up and throwing it away. We have too much.” She pushed aside some trailing vines. “Look over here. This is the good stuff.”
Alice peered through the vines and saw a long row of small pots, each with a spindly sapling poking out of the dirt. None of it looked very impressive.
“Fruit trees,” Kyra said proudly. “Hardly anything the same, only what we need for cross-pollination. There's three kinds of pears and five kinds of apples, and cherries and, oh, look here! These are the berry bushes. They won't grow into trees like the others, but they'll mature a lot faster. We might have fresh berries as early as next year.” She grinned, carried away by her own enthusiasm. “Not many berries.” She cupped her hands to demonstrate. “A handful, maybe. But every year there'll be more.”
A metallic clatter from the far end of the arboretum saved Alice from an exhaustive cataloging of the berry bushes. A door swung open and a man came through. He closed the door behind him, straightened up, then swatted at something in the air beside his face.
“Hey,” Kyra said. “Don't swat the bees. We need them. Besides, they'll sting you if you annoy them.”
“Bugs on a ship,” the man grumbled. “Of all the …”
“This is a station,” Kyra said primly, walking toward him. “Captain Rodriguez, this is Alice.”
Rodriguez, a stern-looking man in his fifties with a shaved head and silver eyebrows, nodded politely to Alice – then stiffened. He peered at her more closely, then said, “Alice Rose? Is that you?”
Alice smiled. “Hello, Diego.”
Kyra said, “You two have met?”
They ignored her, hurrying toward one another. Rodriguez's strong arms enfolded her, squeezed briefly, then let her go. She stepped back, looking up at him. “Oh, it's good to see you again, Diego.”
He beamed. “Alice! I was worried about you. About your whole crew. Is the Free Bird here?”
She shook her head, feeling her smile drop away. “No. Some of the crew are dead. The rest are scattered. Bridger's here. He's the only one who's still with me.”
Rodriguez looked around, found a bench among the planters, and sat down. “Tell me everything.”
Alice sat beside him. Kyra hesitated for a moment, then gave in to curiosity and plunked herself down on another bench nearby. Alice looked at her, considering. “Kyra, where are you from?”
Kyra's eyebrows rose. “Me? Tazenda.”
“All right. You can stay.” She took a deep breath, turned to Rodriguez, and let the whole story come pouring out.
When she finished, Kyra said, “Wow.”
“So,” said Rodriguez, “what's next for you?”
Alice shrugged helplessly. “I don't know if it's safe to stay here, but it's not safe to board another ship.”
“Sure it is,” he said. “I'll take you aboard the Orange Blossom. I've got a contract to deliver machine parts to the Mercator Corporation asteroid stations. I'll drop you on Novograd.”
“The DA's intercepting ships,” Alice protested.
He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “I've been smuggling things past the UW for ten years. Things and people.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “I can get you past the Dawn Alliance.”
“I'm actually legal,” she said. “So's Bridger. It's Ham who needs to be smuggled.”
“I can get him on the ground at Novograd,” Rodriguez said. “Guaranteed. If he wants to go.”
She stared at him, weighing his words. He gazed back, utterly confident. She'd known him for a long time, and she'd never heard him make an empty boast. Alice made her decision and stood. “Let's go ask him.”
When they walked into the forward hold they found Bridger pushing an enormous wheelbarrow down the middle of the street, Ham walking alongside, steadying a precarious pile of sacks. A smell of dust rose from the sacks, and powdered rock dust trickled from a ruptured seam. They were headed in the direction of the farm.
“Alice,” Bridger said, not stopping. “We've made an arrangement with George. He's fronting us enough dirt to start a little farming operation. He's giving us a couple buckets of proper soil, too. He says we'll need a month or so to spread the bacteria, and then we'll have soil that can grow something. He'll give us radish and carrot seeds. He wants half our first harvest. After that, we're on our own.”
“There's enough work for all three of us,” Ham added. “What do you think?”
“I think I'm leaving,” she answered. “This is Captain Rodriguez. He's got a ship that can get us safely to Novograd.” She lowered her voice, gave Ham a meaningful look, and said, “All three of us, if you want to come.”
Bridger put the handles of the wheelbarrow down so fast the stack of bags started to tip. Ham swore and planted a shoulder against the top bag, stopping the fall. Bridger said, “When do we leave?”
“You could stay,” she said. “Be farmers. It might be safer.”
“That's easy for you to say,” Ham retorted. “You haven't tried to lift one of these bloody bags.” He straightened up and brushed dust from his clothes. “Captain Rodriguez?” He stuck out a hand. “I'm Garth Ham. I'd be delighted to join your crew.”
Rodriguez shook his hand, then Bridger's. “We can leave pretty soon. Do you need to pack?”
“Nope,” said Bridger. “I'm carrying everything I own.”
Rodriguez glanced at the wheelbarrow. “Do you need help moving this?”
“Not my wheelbarrow,” said Bridger.
“Not my dirt,” said Ham. He turned his head. “George! Deal's off!”
“Figures!” said an irritated voice from the nearest building.
“That’s every loose end tied up,” said Bridger. “Where's the ship?”
Chapter 9
“Oh my God, Sir, that’s disgusting.”
Tom looked at the millipede squirming in his hand and nodded. “Yes, it is.” The wriggling insect was as long as a banana, and almost the same bright yellow. It was also packed full of protein. He lifted it to his mouth, crunched down on the bug’s head, and felt it give a final spasm, then go still.
The spacer in front of him, a man named Martins, grimaced and looked away. Tom ate the rest of the millipede, telling himself it was creamy rather than slimy, then said, “Wait a couple of weeks, Martins. You won’t be nearly so fastidious.”
Martins shuddered. He was a new arrival, captured in yet another battle that had gone badly for the United Worlds. He and three of his shipmates were now part of Tom’s platoon. They didn’t fit in yet. They were too plump, too soft.
They still thought of escape.
“I can hear water,” said another new prisoner, clearly trying to change the subject. “Sounds like a river.”
“I’d like to see a river,” Cranshaw said wistfully. He was a skinny kid always talking about home. “We had a river just up the road from my farm. We used to make rafts in the summer. Float all the way to town.”
“Give it time,” Tom assured him. “You’ll be so sick of water you’ll never want to see another river in your life.” That wasn’t quite true. Tom could hear the trickle of water in the distance, and he felt a yearning to go take a look. There was something wonderfully unconstrained about a river, all that water flowing away to places without soldiers, without fences, without guns and the constant threat of death.
The rest of the platoon was marking trees for cutting. Tom was sticking close to the new men, though. He was worried about them. When he looked in their faces he saw a desperate determination. They were thinking about escape. They were dead men walking, unless he could keep them under control.
“Why are we even doing this?” Yamato complained. “I know, I know. We’re doing it because they make us. But why are they making us dig holes with shovels, and clear brush with machetes?” He shook his head in baffled disbelief. “It must cost more to guard and feed us than our labor is worth. Why do they bother?”
“It’s for their consciences,” Cranshaw declared.
Tom stared at him. He’d heard this subject debated dozens of times, with theories ranging from a desire by the DA to humiliate the prisoners and inflate their own egos to a collapse of technical infrastructure that made human labor actually valuable. By the sound of it, though, Cranshaw had a new theory.
“They don’t want to kill us,” the young spacer said. “Not deep down inside. They want to be merciful, but their cultural philosophy doesn’t allow it.”
That drew a derisive snort from Martins. Cranshaw ignored him. “They have this concept of manifest destiny. They feel entitled to the Green Zone. To the whole galaxy, really. Because they’re superior to everyone else. We’re no more significant than that bug the lieutenant just ate.”