Part 2 (2/2)
I almost fall out of the chair. Ouch.
”Bulls.h.i.+t,” I tell him.
”No bulls.h.i.+t. We tried to find you for the first s.h.i.+p, but you kept moving around and I've had my hands full enough with all the new folks arriving and pa.s.sing through. We were lucky, you were lucky, that Gracie's boys spotted you and tipped us off. The second s.h.i.+p leaves later today. Barsoom City needs a support staff with the Project Burroughs personnel pulling out. Trouble is, the only personnel we have so far who will be able to hack life on Mars are the scientists and technicians. We don't have a shortage of them, but we do have a shortage in another area.” He looks at me curious. ”Are you too proud to push a mop? Or handle some laundry or cooking?”
This is unreal. ”No,” I say. h.e.l.l, I've held down worse jobs in college.
”You sure? You weren't too far from a degree in engineering at one time. And most of the initiative you've shown up here has been self-serving. Can you serve others is my question. You'll actually be working, not loafing around with a bunch of other b.u.ms.”
”I wasn't a prodigy student, even at my best,” I admit to him. ”My grades would have gotten me nothing more than a cubicle Down There, not a techslot on the moon. But I can make a good grunt. I can even do some tech work when it's needed. Ask around. Sign me up.” Sign me up now, before you change your mind.
”You don't want to hear about pay or benefits?”
”You covering my air and food?”
”It's part of the package. The food won't be much better than the slop we give ticket holders here at first-not until the greenhouses and protein processors are online-but you'll get what the science and tech folks get.”
”Sign me up.” I tell him. Yes. Yes. Yes!
”Not so fast. You ready to take on a two-year long contract?”
”Earth years or Martian years?”
He chuckles and looks a little pleased with himself. ”Martian, of course. That's about four Earth years. Give or take.”
I think about it for only the briefest of moments. Nearly five years on the moon, four years on Mars. Who knows? Maybe out past Pluto before I'm sixty. And hey, people are living longer. The technology is only getting better.
”And of course you get a free ride back to Earth when your contract is up,” he tells me.
”No,” I say.
”No?” The guy looks a little surprised. He leans across the desk and gives me his best darkly-type scowl. ”Look son, I can't make you take the job on Mars, but if you think you're going to continue coasting Up Here any longer-”
”No, I mean I don't want to go back to Earth.”
”You'll want to stay on Mars? Don't speak too soon. It's not all it's cracked up to be.”
”Neither is the moon-but going forward beats falling backward. When the contract is up, I want berth to any other colony settlement that will take me. If there's nothing ready, I'll sign up for another Martian year until something does turn up.”
”You're kidding,” he says, staring at me all curious-like. ”Son, Barsoom City isn't a big dome, although it'll get bigger in time. If you think you'll find better a better life on Ceres or someplace, you've got more than a few years of waiting.”
”They'll need dishwashers on Ceres too. If not now, then eventually. And if not Ceres, than Callisto. Or on a deep s.p.a.ce explorer or comet rocket.”
How did Columbus get all that crew? They weren't all seadogs and convicts. There must have been a few dishwashers who just wanted to see how far they could go, how many horizons they could cross. For a lot of folken, the ties to Mama Earth are too strong, but I was ready to be s.p.a.ceborn the first time I opened my eyes and saw them twinkling lights in the sky. Brahe City was just the first small step. One small step, baby, and it's the stars-our destination. Don't try to stop me now.
I look at Boss Mead and he ain't so bad seeming right now. I think of how Gracie laughed as I was dragged by, and now who's laughing? Mead and I talk some more, then he cuts me loose with a b.u.t.terscotch-colored chit, ”Be at dock H in twelve hours. I'll forward your guitar to the s.h.i.+p. Use the rest of the time to gather your personals, but no contraband. Now beat it. And good luck.”
And it's off I go.
I hit all my hideyholes, one after the other, and grab my stash. Of the chits I got left, I head out to the Concourse and give them to Tattooed Lydia and tell her to keep what she wants, give the rest to whomever. Same with the chit scanner. I also tell her to describe for Gracie the chit I'm wearing, but not to tell her where I've gone. Let her stew for a bit until she gigs it out for herself.
Lydia closes up early and we go shopping. I'll need some new jumps for Mars. Buy some books maybe and vids and geegaws and grimschiffles to trade. Even scientists and techies need toys. What's left over I put into an actual bank account, courtesy of a b.u.t.terscotch chit which makes me too official for words. Lydia and I feast on the rest of my meal tickets then hit Big Lou's for a spot of comfort time before I blast off.
I told you she's the friendly sort.
Brothers and sisters, listen well to the one who went before. Keep your eyes open. Keep your ears open. Be patient, but know an opportunity when it slaps you upside the head. Until then-make your own opportunities and be not afraid.
Who knows what's down the road, but I aim to find out.
THE GATE BETWEEN HOPE AND GLORY.
Holly Phillips
No question the rider was dead.
The repair crew, all four of them, stood on the rim of the cargo pod's airlock staring down at the body huddled against the pod's stained white tiles. Not the first hitch hiker to attempt the trip up to the station from the planet in an atmosphered pod, and probably not the last. Chouss and Awandi dropped a ladder into the pod and climbed down to deal with the remains. The pod's interior was slightly warmer than the maintenance pit; Chouss pulled off her gloves to unclip the harness that held the rider against the cargo restraints.
She-the rider was a she-had done everything she could: breather tanks, forged worker ID so the robot cargo handlers would ignore her, even a skin tight insulation suit under the gray coveralls to keep her skin from freezing. But without a vacuum suit and helmet no one could survive the total loss of atmosphere from the maintenance pump.
And anyone taking a vacuum suit down to Glory didn't get to leave again.
Chouss reached bare handed to remove the useless breather mask from the rider's dead blue face.
”Chouss!” Awandi said, shocked. ”What if she's a denanos?”
Chouss gave her a pitying look. ”Denanos don't leave Glory.”
”Oh.”
”Anyway, she can't bite me if she's dead.” She slipped the mask free and smoothed the fine black hair off the rider's face. Awandi had never seen the crewboss so gentle with anyone alive. ”Look how pale she was.”
All Awandi could see was the slate blue of the cold vacuum dead, the same color as the corpses displayed on station news after the company ended the strike by venting gamma spoke's atmosphere. Cousins, neighbors, friends. Blue strangers, their agony frozen stiff on the screen behind the company spokesman's serene brown face.
Wen lowered a line and they hooked the rider to the winch, raised her up to the catwalk where Soje had a bag ready. They handled the corpse matter of factly, even kindly, having nothing against any of the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who tried to escape from Glory.
Soje handed the breather and mask over to Wen as salvage, then carefully straightened the limbs, looking surprised at how flexible the joints were. ”Must have lasted until the pump,” he said.
”They're moving fast down at docking ring,” Chouss said. ”Getting set for the backlog when the next s.h.i.+p comes in, on account of gamma being off line.”
Off line. Awandi winced at the euphemism, thinking vented, thinking vacuum, thinking murder. But Soje-her brother Soje, who had been in with the strikers, who had been lucky to escape the decompression of the station wheel's gamma spoke and the arrests that followed-Soje only nodded, folded the rider's small hands across her chest and reached for the zip ”Huh” said Chouss, already heading for the com to call authority. ”She looks even paler up here, hey Wandi?”
Awandi looked again, and swallowed. ”She is paler.”
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