Space Stations Part 11

He'd hoped for repercussions. Everyone hoped for a reaction from Hamilton Station to their a.s.sault on her hull. The com tech maintained a vigil. Nothing.

Meanwhile, the 'siders, ever practical, made those who'd waited inside the shuttle take off their suits, move around, and insisted they eat. Everyone tucked some of their rations into pockets. The Earther, Linda, had watched this, then done the same.

Sensible woman, Dave decided. Annette must have agreed. She'd made conversationwith the Earther, exchanged drink tubes in a gesture of acceptance as old as Thromberg, or perhaps older. Whether the Earther knew it or not, she'd be watched over as if one of their own.

Linda rubbed sleep from her eyes as she went forward, contemplating using one of the two boost shots in her suit, then decided to save them for-what? She refused to speculate. The corridor lights were dimmed; only the glows above each door showed her where Pavel and Lili, along with the shuttle pilots, Steve and Marcus, were snoring in a discordant harmony in the cots-strapped in place, still in suits, helmets hanging from tethers. Not routine, she'd heard the stationers whisper to one another, as though it was a warning. Appropriate.

Linda moved quietly past the others, tired enough to sleep without drugs, but unwilling to seek oblivion of any type until she knew and approved what was happening next. Not the best att.i.tude for a humble shuttle attendant, she chided herself even as she slipped through the door to the bridge.

Pettersen had stretched out on the crew bench, eyes closed and one leg with its taped-on mag boot on the floor. Linda doubted he truly slept. The captain and Leland were out of their suits, slumped but alert in the pilots' chairs. The com tech huddled over her console, eyes half-lidded as she monitored something only she could hear.

"Hear you made yourself useful," Leland said by way of greeting.

"Learned some things," Linda replied. "Most not reg'." The stationer's unexpected smile was lopsided, exposing gaps in his discolored teeth; it warmed her anyway.

The captain's voice was worn as thin as her face. "Sit," she ordered, waving at the abandoned nav chair. "You look worse than I feel."

Linda didn't deny it. She sat, her helmet in her lap, and wrapped her mind around what these two might need to know. "s.h.i.+p's secured, sir. Solid feeds. Which means the station is powered up and airtight. Everyone's calm. Almost. The 'siders insisted on having people outside, on the hull." She raised her eyebrow at Leland, making that a question.

"Old habit," the stationer grunted. "After everyone grabs a bit of sleep, we'll crack the port seal. Hope you're game for that too, Earther."

Earther suits were designed so a child could use them, Dave reminded himself, tempted to take a swallow from the tube near his lips, stopped by the strangeness of drinking alone. A child. Children. He fastened on that, happier imagining an incredible future than the next few minutes, when he and Annette would walk out of the s.h.i.+p into the expanse of s.p.a.ce.

Walk? He managed not to shudder. While in the shuttle's air lock, Dave and rest of the s.p.a.ce novices would have bags put over their helmets and be towed along with the rest of the gear to the station's emergency access port. 'Siders weren't inclined to avoidable risk.

Stationers weren't inclined to avoidable trust either. Dave knew he wasn't the only one calculating the wisdom of putting his life into the hands of those who'd been forced to be virtually invisible during the blockade. 'Siders had survived because they were too stubborn to die, not because of station charity.

Of course, they had the Quill-and the Earthers-to thank for all of that.

"Ready to check out the new place?" Annette's voice rang in his ears, brittle but determined. She nudged him from behind. "Remember. We want something in the inward levels-a good location, with room for our repair shop. You know what Sammie told us-we need to establish an economy here, get things running so smooth there'll be no excuses for Earth to interfere."She wasn't being callous, Dave knew. It was better to think of Hamilton Station as empty, as s.p.a.ce ready to occupy, than dwell on what might be waiting. "Ready as you are, darl'n," Dave said as confidently as possible.

Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Linda left them alone in her lap, concentrating on the light, chest-only breaths she was taking, counting those.

"All that saved us was those codes," Pavel said. She wasn't sure to whom or how often he'd repeated it. There were so many of them crowded together here, the blending of Earther and stationer made complete by the suits and the horror of their welcome, that Linda no longer tried to identify individuals.

"Sammie must have been here before," a woman answered. "Surprised he remembered them. Sure glad he did." This brought a laugh from some.

Linda swallowed bile. She'd seen what the stationers had not, by virtue of being familiar with work in zero-g and to a horizon defined by a distant arc of sun-torched white. Leland had been right. The ports had been traps. If they had tried to use the s.h.i.+p auto-dock system to attach themselves, the ports would have released their contents and destroyed them all. If they had tried to force entry? Same result.

Destruction.

And if she'd stayed in Sol System, working a freighter, she'd never have had to see air locks crammed tight with explosives and the dead to carry them.

Leland had been the unlikely hero. He'd gone first, ponderously graceful, disguised as handsome in his Earther suit, and had punched in codes for the emergency hatch as well as the larger cargo doors. Codes only those on Hamilton Station would know.

Codes a Thromberg Station bartender shouldn't have known.

Why him? Why here?

They'd waited for Leland's signal, Earthers and 'siders securing their cabled-together bags of gear and helpless, blinded pa.s.sengers. Credit to the stationers-none had panicked, none had vomited until safely inside the station, helmets off. That had been the greatest risk for those who could see, who had to clear the contents of at least one air lock immediately to get the helpless inside.

Linda wasn't sure if it been courage or disbelief that allowed her to keep going.

She'd been humbly grateful to the 'siders who took what she pa.s.sed outward with the presence of mind to tie everything together so nothing would float free and endanger the shuttle, only steps away.

So this was Hamilton Station. Linda couldn't have told where she was now from the docking ring on Thromberg, save for a different, fresher taste to the air-and the silence. She hadn't realized how noisy the throngs packing the other, living station had been, how comforting the background drone of thousands could be. Until she'd come here, where fifty-or-so huddled close, to make themselves feel like more.

Hamilton was messier. The stationers talked about this between themselves, uneasy. Linda remembered Thromberg as having a broken-in look-everything possible being used and reused. Nothing wasted. Hamilton? No one had lived here.

She felt gorge rising again in her throat and forced it down. They'd existed, long enough for destruction and fear. Not long enough to fit pieces together and keep going.

Perhaps goaded by similar thoughts, the stationers began moving. Linda was startled when a hand pressed something into hers-one of the metal strips. 'Dibs. She looked up and met the understanding eyes of the small, dark-haired woman she'd met in the shuttle, Annette Bijou. "Our turn, now," Annette said. "There's work to do. You rest a while."Linda closed her fingers over the strip and stood, taking a deep breath. "What next?" she asked. Pavel slid upright beside her.

A keen look, then a nod. "Some are going to the 'vironment monitors, others to hydroponics. Dave and I are going to start checking the inward levels for working s.p.a.ce and a.s.sess supplies. You're welcome to come with us."

"Aren't you-aren't you-" Linda had trouble with the words.

"-looking for survivors?" Annette finished for her. "You don't understand what happened here, do you?"

"And you do?" Linda knew her voice was incredulous and overly loud, but none of the others took offense.

"They feared the Quill," a deeper, more resonant voice answered. Leland and his shadow, Pettersen, were back from wherever they'd gone. The stationers cl.u.s.tered around to listen; Linda found the contact of strangers' shoulders oddly comforting.

"Everyone feared the Quill," Pavel protested. "Thromberg did-and you survived.

You were the same-"

Pettersen shook his head, tight-lipped. As usual, it was Leland who spoke. "We survived because we didn't close our ports, because we allowed s.h.i.+ps to bring supplies and medicine." The stationer paused, then put his hand on Pettersen's thin shoulder. "We survived because people eventually took the chance those returning to us didn't bring the Quill."

Linda realized what she should have seen when on Hamilton's hull. "No 'siders. No s.h.i.+ps at all."

"s.h.i.+ps fled here," Pettersen said at last. "Com logs say so. But Hamilton feared the Quill so much, station personnel laid mines to destroy any s.h.i.+p that approached. After that? Maybe they feared reprisals as well as the Quill, so more mines. Which meant no s.h.i.+ps. No help. As they starved... as disease overwhelmed them... they put their dead on guard as well. Outside. In the 'locks. Until the last of them sealed him or herself within."

Leland sighed, deep and heavy. "We had our troubles, on Thromberg. Did things to regret." A flash of pain crossed his face. "Unforgivable things. But we didn't hide like this, we didn't cut ourselves off from humanity." His bulk shuddered, once, then he straightened. "Or stand around moaning about what's done and gone," he added sharply. With that, the crowd began to dissolve, people picking up bags and gathering into small groups of four or five, heading in different directions.

Annette lingered. "How'd you know the codes, Sammie?" she asked quietly.

The stationer scowled, a ferocious distortion on that face, but Annette didn't appear impressed. "How?" she repeated. "It saved us. Grateful for that. But people don't want secrets at the start, Sammie. You know I'm right."

"Come with me, then," he growled, and walked away, heading for the nearest lifts.

Linda found herself alone with Pavel. "Are you returning to the shuttle?" she asked.

Pavel shook his head. "They're going to start clearing the other "locks," he said grimly. "I'd better get outside." He hesitated, looking after Leland. "Go with him, Linda. The captain will want to know what's going on."

Dave knew the Earther woman followed them. Likely suspecting conspiracy or worse, he decided, noticing she kept a few steps back. Same old stuff. He tried, but couldn't rouse anger. The reality of how fragile Thromberg's peace had really been, how near to sharing Hamilton's fate they'd come-if they hadn't found a way to live with the 'siders, with each other, even with Earth? It wouldn't have taken the Quill tokill them.

Sammie stopped without warning. Dave, right behind, had to lurch not to run into the other man's back. He looked around hurriedly, as did the others, seeking danger, expecting ghosts.

And found one.

There was a sign, half-melted into the wall. The words on it were underlined by a ragged scorching. "Leland Interplanetary Travel Services, Inc." Below, in small, clear text: "Book a visit from that special someone today!"

They turned to him.

"My company," Sammie acknowledged so softly it almost disguised the tremor in his voice. "I knew the entry codes because I started the franchise here, on Hamilton Station."

"Franchise?" Annette asked, as if compelled. "There were more?"

He nodded. "Gave this one to my eldest boy, Henry, before moving to Thromberg.

Henry was doing well-brought his family. Wife, three little girls." A pause. No one breathed. "I started a franchise on every station. I believed our future was out here, in s.p.a.ce. This was my way of keeping us together."

"All family?" Dave tried to comprehend the scale of such loss and failed. Sammie had aimed enough close kin at Thromberg's sun to ice a heart. But this?

The heavy brows knotted. "Not all by blood. A cousin on Wye Station. An aunt on Pfefferlaws. Three nephews, on Hamble, Osari, Ricsus. The rest were-friends.

People who followed my vision. Me." Sammie's eyes hadn't left the sign.

The Earther, Linda, almost reached out her hand; the intention was written in a s.h.i.+ft of posture, quickly contained. "People followed you today, Mr. Leland. Sammie.

Because of you, we are still alive and have a future."

Sammie didn't respond, instead pus.h.i.+ng aside the debris covering the door, stepping carelessly on rubble that didn't bear examining too closely. A light started from his hand, played over a wide s.p.a.ce, a countertop too solidly attached to move easily. He went behind, put both elbows on it, then leaned his head into his hands.

Dave ran his own light around the devastation, hoping not to find anything more identifiable than ripped plastic sheeting. He coughed in the dust. Beside him, Annette suddenly spoke: "Even your rotted beer would go good about now, Sammie."

No one moved, as if the simple comment had been set loose to run over the room, checking size and shape, measuring for tables and plumbing, and they must do nothing but watch.

"It's over." A growl. A warning.

"It's a great idea, Sammie," Dave dared.

"Think so?" Sammie roared, lifting a face distorted with anguish and grief.

"Mebbe I'm not innerested in any more ideas."

Annette didn't back away. "You know what your place was for us on Thromberg.

That's why you kept it open. Well, we need something like that here-as much as we need coms and hydroponics-something to help make this our home."

"Do you think the Earthers want us to have one?" Hard and bitter. "Do you really think they want anything to do with us, once we've cleared the bodies and done their dirty work?"

Dave felt himself gently pushed to one side as Linda stepped up to the counter. The Earther stared at Sammie a long moment, then slammed down her hand. When she lifted it again, there was a 'dib lying there, reflecting light."Yes," was all she said.

t.i.tan University Archives Public Access Reference: Post-Quill Era; Station Self-Government ...Among the leading destinations for travelers of this era were the newly independent stations, beginning with Thromberg and Hamilton. These cities in s.p.a.ce not only hosted immigrants en route to the new colonies and tourists eager to experience deep s.p.a.ce, but also became thriving communities in their own right, attracting commerce through their advantages of location, a skilled and motivated labor force, and abundant energy resources. Governor Pavel Romanov, of Hamilton Station, is credited with being the first extra-Solar politician to obtain contracts limiting involvement in station internal affairs by the System Universities and TerraCor, agreements signed, legend insists, in a bar called Sammie's....

FOLLOW THE SKY.

by Pamela Sargent

Pamela Sargent has won the Nebula Award, the Locus Award, and has been a finalist for the Hugo Award. She is the author of several highly-praised novels, among them Cloned Lives (1976), The Golden s.p.a.ce, (1979), The Alien Upstairs (1983), and Alien Child (1988). The Was.h.i.+ngton Post Book World has called her "one of the genre's best writers."

Sargent is also the author of Ruler of the Sky (1993), an epic historical novel about Genghis Khan. Her Climb the Wind: A Novel of Another America published in 1999, was a finalist for the Sidewise Award for Alternate History. Child of Venus, in Sargent's Venus trilogy, called "masterful" by Publishers Weekly, came out in 2001. Her latest short story collection is The Mountain Cage and Other Stories.

ALONZA'S earliest memory of her mother was also her last.

They crouched together in a shadowed s.p.a.ce near a wall, Alonza and her mother Amparo, looking out at a brightly lighted corridor filled with people. Men and women hurried past them, a few chattering at the people nearest them, others striding along without speaking while staring straight ahead. On the other side of the corridor, holo images of meat pies, pastries, fruits, flatbreads, and colorful bottles appeared over the heads of the pa.s.sersby, hung there for a few seconds, then vanished.

Occasionally, a hovercar filled with people floated past, scattering the crowds with a sharp whistling sound.

Amparo clutched a small satchel. Her hand trembled slightly as she handed her daughter a bracelet. "Listen to me," she whispered to Alonza, leaning closer. "Hang on to that bracelet for now-don't drop it."

Alonza tried to put the bracelet on, but there was no clasp, and she was unable to bend the thin band of metal tightly enough to secure it around her wrist. "It won't stay on," she said.

"It doesn't have to go on. Put it in your pocket-just make sure you hang on to it until-"

"Amparo," Alonza said, suddenly afraid. Her mother's forehead glistened with sweat, and she was panting, gasping for air. Maybe she was ill. Alonza thrust thebracelet into one of the side pockets of her tunic.

"Listen to me, child," Amparo said. "Go down this corridor, and look for a bin.

Make sure no one sees you when you ditch the bracelet, then keep walking. When you get tired, sit down somewhere and act like you're waiting for somebody. I'll find you later. Got that?"

Alonza nodded.

"Then go." Amparo pushed her toward the stream of people.

Alonza darted among the forest of trousered legs, and was almost struck in the face by an arm swinging a small bag. There was no clear path through the throng. She slowed her pace, but kept going, breaking into a sprint whenever a s.p.a.ce opened up, then slowing down again.

Amparo had sent her after the woman whose satchel they had taken. Alonza had gone up to the woman to distract her while Amparo got ready to grab the stranger's bag, but this time something had gone wrong. Amparo had moved too quickly, knocking the woman to the floor. The woman had tried to get up and had struck Amparo in the knee, and then Amparo hit her over the head with the pouch full of small stones and pebbles she usually carried in case she had to stun somebody from behind with a quick blow. Alonza remembered her mother standing over the woman's still body, looking angry and then frightened.

Sometimes Amparo just grabbed a duffel or a bag from her target right away.

Sometimes she waited nearby while Alonza pleaded with the mark for directions to a gateway or whimpered that she was lost and couldn't find her mother, and then Amparo swiped the bag while her mark was still talking to Alonza. Once in a while, Amparo was able to back someone into a corner and threaten her victim into giving up an ident.i.ty bracelet and personal code before knocking the mark out with a drug implant slapped against an arm. That kind of job was riskier, but often more rewarding.

"Always pick somebody smaller than you who looks nervous and afraid," Amparo had explained to a couple of her younger friends who were visiting a few nights ago.

"Best luck I've had is with students who look like it's their first time away from home, or with old people. They're so scared of getting hurt that they'll give you their codes as soon as you ask."

Alonza thought of the time when her mother had come back to their room with three necklaces and two jackets bought with the credit and codes of a stolen ident.i.ty bracelet. Usually Amparo might be able to make one or two purchases before a victim came to and reported a bracelet stolen, but there had been more loot that time.

Amparo had been in the middle of her sixth transaction when she had seen that funny look in the merchant's eyes that told her that her stolen credit was now blocked and that a security guard was on the way.