《It Was Like This When I Found It》 Chapter 1
(Excerpt from transcript of 4th day of hearing, Labour Relations Board enquiry in Daintree Distribution Centre 038884/17/42 Dunbar Commerce and Transport Hub Location) Osbourne: Staff should not masturbate during shifts. Daniels: ..Is that a question? Osbourne: I just want to know if you agree. Daniels:...If I agree? Osbourne: That staff should not masturbate during shifts. Daniels: I¡­ Osboure: Is it that complicated? Daniels: It¡¯s...I didn¡¯t realise that this hearing primarily concerned the issue of masturbating during work hours. My understanding was that the focus of this enquiry was the working conditions of the mechanical non-organic employees of the warehouse- Osbourne: Distribution centre. Daniels: The non-organic employees of the distribution centre in question. I¡¯m not an expert but¡­I don¡¯t believe they masturbate at all? ---------- CHAPTER 1 ¡°You can hold the fort yourself for five minutes,¡± said Maciek. ¡°Say ten. I need to do a couple of things through the back,¡± ¡°Okay.¡± said Iona. ¡°Sure,¡± ¡°When I come back through we can lock the door and get this place shut down. And then we can both get out of here. Hm?¡± ¡°Great,¡± Maciek nodded. ¡°You got another job to get to?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Good,¡± said Macieck. ¡°Good for you. What you doing?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know yet,¡± said Iona. ¡°Auntie Joan hasn¡¯t really explained it yet. I guess I¡¯ll be working with her, though?¡± Maciek pulled one of the wire shelves out of the nearest oven. ¡°Security?¡± he asked. ¡°That¡¯s where Auntie Joan works, yes,¡± ¡°Hm,¡± said Macieck. ¡°She hasn¡¯t told you what you¡¯re going to be doing?¡± ¡°She said she¡¯d explain when I saw her,¡± ¡°And you haven¡¯t seen her?¡± ¡°This is only my third day here,¡± Maciek set the shelf on the floor, leaning against the oven. ¡°Well,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s get closed up quick so you¡¯re not late for your first meeting with auntie.¡± So now Iona was standing behind the counter by herself, wondering at her fantastic decision to come out here to Dunbar hub. Her aunt (probably not actually her aunt, probably a daughter of a friend of her granny or something) had finagled Iona into a job out here. ¡®Out here¡¯ being wherever Dunbar currently was, about a month¡¯s travel past the end of civilisation. Iona hadn¡¯t been keen on the idea at first but it was a job that, promise, wasn¡¯t mining or farming. That was worth spending weeks living on a shelf in a freighter that was flying you away from anywhere people actually wanted to live. So far? So good. Typical minimum-wage-affordable accomodation on Dunbar was four-bedroom shared flats instead of dormitories like most places. The luxury was something Iona had never thought she¡¯d experience. A bedroom to herself! A bathroom only four people shared! Dunbar was kind of a tatty old station with zero good shops and they were really stingy with the oxygen but privacy they had like hydrogen. And the job was amazing. Iona¡¯s auntie/acquaintance had managed to get her into one of the three branches of McTavish¡¯s Bakery And Sandwiches Number One In The Galaxy. For the first time in her life Iona wasn¡¯t working twelve-hour shifts cleaning mining machines or cleaning tubes or harvesting fruit. She had spent the day taking nice-smelling hot trays out of big ovens and putting little rolls and donuts and things into bags for customers. She couldn¡¯t remember the last time she had been so happy. The time had rocketed by. Iona hoped her other job, the one she was starting after this, wouldn¡¯t be too hard, or too many hours. The door chime sounded and a customer walked in. Probably the last customer of the day, thought Iona, so she gave him a beaming full-force smile and a high-energy ¡®Hi!¡¯. It seemed to alarm him. He glanced up briefly at her and approached the counter slowly. ¡°What can I get for you?¡± asked Iona brightly. The young man was peering into the cabinet where the hot food sat out to be sold. There were only a couple of dried-out samosas and a curled panini left. ¡°Uh¡­¡± he said, staring at the empty shelves. ¡°Have you not got any red puddings left?¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m sorry, this is all we¡¯ve got,¡± said Iona with heartfelt regret. ¡°Sorry, we¡¯re just about to close,¡± ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± said the customer. He gazed sadly at the panini. ¡°Sometimes, usually, there are couple of things left, some of the puddings, battered sausages, you know? Black pudding¡­¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± said Iona again. ¡°Maybe come in a bit earlier tomorrow?¡± The man glanced up at Iona. He looked like he needed a good sleep and a hug. ¡°This is the earliest I can get here,¡± he said. ¡°I work...you know. It takes a while to get over here. I normally stop to get my tea here on the way home, and there¡¯s usually something left...¡± ¡°Do you live in the Beauly block too?¡± asked Iona. ¡°I just moved in there, it¡¯s really nice,¡± The man shook his head, perking up a bit. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve got my own place.¡± Iona¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Really?¡± she asked. The guy didn¡¯t look like someone who would have his own private accommodation. He was in his early twenties at most and dressed like a normal workie- hi-vis stuff, pockets and reflective strips all over, everything worn and shabby. Iona was about to ask him what he did for a job. ¡°Oh, Iona!¡± said Maciek from behind her. ¡°Iona, this is our favourite customer, Orson.¡± Orson¡¯s round face was already starting to go red. ¡°This is our new team member, Iona,¡± said Maciek. ¡°Iona, I should have told you before. Orson comes in every day about this time. So when we turn the ovens off, I usually put whatever puddings are left into a bag and put it aside for Orson.¡± Maciek reached into the bottom of the heated cabinet and pulled out a foil-wrapped package. ¡°See?¡± he said, pleased with himself. He placed the package down reverently on the top of the cabinet. ¡°That¡¯s for Orson. Black pudding, red pudding, battered sausage, battered haggis when we have it, that¡¯s what you like, isn¡¯t it Orson?¡± Orson nodded, blushing furiously. Iona smiled sympathetically at him. ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s less, sometimes it¡¯s more, whatever we¡¯ve got left.¡± continued Maciek. ¡°But Orson just pays Orson price. Five coin flat rate, right?¡± ¡°Right,¡± said Orson, frantically trying to get his handheld out of his pocket to pay. ¡°Right,¡± said Iona. ¡°So when I turn the ovens off, the leftover puddings get put aside for Orson,¡± ¡°Right!¡± said Maciek. Orson extracted his handheld from his extremely orange jacket pocket and touched it to the payment bump on the counter. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± said Maciek. Orson pushed his handheld back into his pocket. Maciek picked up the package of puddings off the counter and presented it to Orson. Maciek and Iona both watched silently for maybe three minutes while Orson struggled out of his rucksack straps and wrestled the bag off his back. At last, red-faced, sweating, Orson took the foil package from Maciek and placed it gently into his bag. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said. He zipped up his bag and toddled off towards the door, carrying it in front of him. ¡°Good night, see you tomorrow!¡± called Maciek after him. ¡°See you tomorrow, Orson,¡± said Iona. The door chimed as Orson left the bakery. Maciek turned to Iona. ¡°That¡¯s the most I¡¯ve ever heard him say,¡± he said admiringly. ¡°You¡¯re good with customers,¡± Iona smiled shyly. ¡°I hope so,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re going to be a great employee!¡± said Maciek, nodding firmly. ¡°Now, go and lock that door. Let¡¯s get tidied up quick so we¡¯re not late for our next jobs.¡± Orson slung his rucksack, satisfyingly heavy with puddings, onto his back and started walking away from McT¡¯s. He sighed with relief. Thank goodness that was over. He headed along the corridor towards the lifts. Mentally re-running the interaction that had just taken place, Orson screwed his eyes shut involuntarily. Oof. Could he still go back into McTavish¡¯s? It had been very embarrassing but he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d actually done anything wrong. And now the new girl knew about his special discount so he could go in without worrying that he wouldn¡¯t get his usual puddings package if she was there. So there wasn¡¯t a problem? Except that it was embarrassing that he had been introduced to her as the discount puddings guy. He winced. Was that a problem? He felt like it was. The problem was that you couldn¡¯t be the discount puddings guy without people knowing that you were the discount puddings guy. Did he not want the discount puddings? Orson felt the warm comforting weight in his backpack. Yes, he thought. He did. Orson started rummaging in his pockets for his key. The key unlocked other floors that weren¡¯t available to your normal, bog-standard lift rider. Like the floor Orson lived on. He found the small metal tube and clutched it in his fist as he appproached the doors. He pushed the call button and a couple of seconds later one of the sets of doors opened. Must be quiet right now. Orson stepped into the lift and pushed his special key into the control panel. Immediately the number of floors available to choose from increased. Orson touched the screen to select his floor. He never selected any of the other floors, even though he could, if he wanted to. He didn¡¯t want to. Orson might have his key but he didn¡¯t - strictly speaking- have authorisation. On a station going into unauthorised areas could get you into a lot of trouble. Orson had grown up on small stations like this one. He knew it was dangerous to go anywhere you hadn¡¯t been specifically told you were allowed to be. His mum and dad had always told him you could just walk out into nothing or decompress a whole section of the station and kill everybody. Or even get into trouble with station control if anyone caught you somewhere you weren¡¯t supposed to be. Orson enjoyed knowing that he could go to all these other floors, though. Even though he didn¡¯t want to. The lift doors opened and Orson pocketed his key. He quickly zipped up his jacket , pulled up his hood and stepped out into the howling white void. It was so bright Orson could barely see. He grabbed the sides of his hood to keep it from being whipped back by the wind screaming along the corridor. Eyes screwed almost shut behind his glasses, Orson rushed across the corridor as the lift doors slid shut behind him. There was a door on the other side, unlocked. Orson could leave it unlocked because no-one ever came here other than himself. As far as he knew. Even the few homeless people on the station- very few, being homeless was extremely illegal- never ventured onto this floor. The door opened into the cleaning cupboard. All that was inside was a vacuum cleaner and the big coat Orson kept there for wearing while he was working on floor MF 049. Orson took off his bag and cocooned himself in the enormous coat, zipping it right up over his nose. Then he put on the tinted goggles he kept in the coat pocket, slipping them on over his glasses. He already had his earphones in, which would serve pretty well as earplugs. Orson put his backpack back on and now he was ready to work his second job of the day. This section of floor MF049 was about three miles long and it was Orson¡¯s job to keep it spick and span. He didn¡¯t know why. It was stripped bare of any debris or dust by the constantly roaring wind that scorched MF049 tundra-cold and dry. There was no reason for Orson to be here with a hoover. The thought had crossed his mind that maybe the real reason he¡¯d been charged with cleaning this section of corridor was to have him here patrolling for the hourly cost of a cleaner rather than having to pay for security. The corridor seemed to need guarding even less than it needed cleaning, though. Orson dragged his vacuum-cleaner out into the wind-tunnel of the corridor and closed the cupboard door. He didn¡¯t need to know why anyone wanted him to do this, he just had to keep up the routine and station control would keep crediting his account. He would hoover along to the ¡®west¡¯ one-point-five miles, and then walk back, and then he would hoover along to the east one-point-five miles and that would take him home. Then he and the hoover would spend the night in one of the two cupboards that constituted his flat. In the morning when he left for his first job he¡¯d drag the hoover back along to the cupboard with him on the way to the lift and leave the hoover and his big coat in the cupboard. Then he¡¯d go to his first job. When he got back from first job the coat and the hoover were waiting in the cupboard. Repeat. That was Orson¡¯s routine. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. It was all worth it to have his own place, even though his own place was technically two cupboards. It had been three cupboards, but the landlord of the middle cupboard had decided to evict Orson a couple of months ago. Orson had come along with his hoover to find a heap of his things strewn along the corridor, being tumbled further away by the howling wind. The landlord had put up the eviction notice in the morning when Orson went out to his first job and carried out the eviction before Orson got back. Now Orson and all of his stuff had to live in one cupboard because the other cupboard he had was (thankfully) the bathroom. The cupboard he lived in was a good-sized cupboard, though, enough room for Orson¡¯s bed and his things (he didn¡¯t have many) and the hoover. It was noisy, because of the constant howling wind outside, and cold, also because of the constant howling wind, but when Orson was tucked up in bed with his headphones on watching Seez he was cosy and happy. Every night he fell asleep quickly, belly full, tired from work, comfortable and quite content with his big coat over him like a bedspread. Every morning he woke up after a good six hours of rest, ready to drag himself back out into the blast winds of floor MF049 and off to his first job. ---------- A small aircraft cut across the orange sky, completely silent. It left no trail behind it. Only the odd black flake broke from of the backs of the torn-open engines. If anyone had been there to see, they might have thought the quiet was strange but other than that just a small silver jet winging down towards the purple desert. Nothing obviously amiss. Nobody saw the plane crash. It hit the ground and spun. Sheets of smooth brittle rock slid across each other. The plane skidded and it scraped like a fingernail across a cheese grater. The undercarriage sheared off. The remains of the engines sheared off. The wings caught and tore off. The nose flattened like a piece of wood pushed onto a belt sander. The desert was a sea of purple slate. It shattered and flew like shrapnel. The aircraft didn¡¯t slow much as it skited across the endless field of sharp tiles. It left scattered silver filings over the purple as its metal skin was abraded. It seemed as though it might just keep going, just being stripped away until the last curling sliver of metal was left blowing across the purple desert. The aeroplane¡¯s smear-stop was arrested when the bit of it that was left ploughed into a pile of slate that made a sort of slate-dune standing up a bit from the ocean of purple. The landing was complete. A couple of shingles slid off the top of the heap and dropped to shatter on top of the slice of aircraft. At a little shy of 20,000 feet above the crash site, the vultures who¡¯d been eyeing the plane with interest started to descend. Sometimes when a can like this opened up there was something nice inside. Some meat that was just slightly too alive to be appealing squirmed out of the crashed aircraft. A man, what was left of one. He pulled himself painfully across the scree. The tiles slid away under his hands as he tried to haul himself away from the plane. He slumped down and rolled onto his back. He lay there for a moment, gazing up with glazed eyes at the orange sky. He screamed. Above him the vultures wheeled. Definitely too alive. The man started laughing. He started pulling bits off of himself. Ripping out wiring. Twisting and snapping off metal parts. He had left a very promising-looking red smear behind him as he had dragged himself away from the wreckage but none of the parts of himself he was discarding looked worth flying down there for. Too shiny, very little meat still attached. The man stopped dismantling himself and lay surrounded by the torn-off parts. The vultures continued their descent. Things were looking up. ---------- The DeVep staff had this theory that when the lift read their passes it would start to run just a little bit slow so that they would all clock in twenty, thirty seconds late and lose their first hour¡¯s pay. This could be true but if any company had taught the station lifts to do that, it would be the one Orson worked for. Of all the business on this hub it would be Daintree that would be able to exercise control over the express lifts that everybody had to use. The DeVep staff were getting agitated, starting to pace and check their handhelds. The platform was getting busier, filling up shuffling everybody further and further forwards to wards the doors. Orson just hung back, still, smug because he always got to the express lifts twenty minutes to half an hour earlier than he needed to. Orson had never once clocked in late. He was very pleased with this fact about himself and also would not have admitted it to another person even under torture. When he got to the employee entrance Orson had twenty-three minutes to wait until the door would let him in. He got his handheld out again and went back to the video he¡¯d been watching until he fell asleep last night. PresidentPlugPuller started his streams way before Orson got home from work so he¡¯d start watching as soon as he got home and then go back later to watch what had happened earlier in the show. In last night¡¯s livecast PresidentPlugPuller (AKA PlugPuller, PresidentPeePee, real name Simon) had been apologising for being low energy. He had just had another surgery. He¡¯d livecast the operation; he had persuaded or paid the surgeon to wear a POV camera and the anaesthetist to keep one pointed at his unconscious face throughout. Now he was at home recuperating. Home for PlugPuller was an enormous concrete windowless space that looked like it was a section of a multistorey car park or a warehouse or something. PresidentPlugPuller lived there with his two flatmates. One of the flatmates was a livecaster too, they had their own channel. (It was programming stuff that Orson had tried to watch before but didn¡¯t last long. Orson dearly wanted to be into programming but he had to admit to himself that he just didn¡¯t have the mental horsepower for it.) The President¡¯s flatmates were caring for him, as they always did during his frequent convalescences. He was currently livecasting very feebly, bravely, from a nest of pillows and blankets on his couch. He apologised frequently for being quiet and languid. Occasionally his flatmates would appear in shot, coming over to bring him food or warm drinks or unidentified pills. Both of Simon¡¯s flatmates were mechs. This made Orson so envious that it was almost physically painful. How did you even make friends who were machines? Let alone end up living with two mech flatmates? It was too cool. It also wasn¡¯t the only extremely enviable thing about Simon. ¡°Ow¡­¡± he said quietly, trying to shift his newly-altered body in its nest. Then he said ¡®Nah, I¡¯m fine,¡¯ to apparently no-one. One of his flatmates must have asked him something in their shared private channel. Orson wished he had a shared private channel with a machine who was his best friend. One of the flatmates appeared beside Simon- it was Newell, the smaller one. It used its lifting appendages to very gently rearrange the damaged human. People watching the livecast had posted hearts and cute cartoon robot images into the scrolling chat box. PlugPuller started telling everybody about something that had happened when he was on his way home from his surgery but Newell must have done too good a job making him comfy because he promptly fell asleep mid-sentence. Everybody in the chat posted bed and snuggled-up robot pictures. Newell (AKA OntheQuiVire- he was also a livecaster) took over the show, to the viewers¡¯ delight. He started playing Simon¡¯s latest game deliberately poorly and taking suggestions from viewers about how to really ruin it. He urged everyone watching to donate to PresidentPlugPuller¡¯s surgery fund so that he¡¯d get a nice surprise when he woke up to make up for his game being irretrievably tanked. Lots of people donated. Simon and Newell¡¯s other flatmate, Tai, even joined in on the stream. Tai (AKA CuddleAClaymore) couldn¡¯t talk but he could chat by text onscreen with the viewers. Both of the machines made fun of their poorly, sleepy human flatmate. Every so often he would sort of come-to for a second and then collapse again. Newell and Tai seemed to think it was the funniest thing that had ever happened. Orson had never been so envious of anyone in his life. By the time the light on the outside lock turned from red to green, Orson was freezing. He¡¯d been standing outside for twenty-eight minutes and put back on all the layers of clothing he¡¯d taken off during the 18 minutes in the lift. The lifts were always like ovens. His handheld buzzed, receiving the door code. Orson peeled off a glove quickly and punched the code into the lock panel. The lock thought about it for a moment and then a click indicated the door was open. From this point Orson had 4 minutes 34 seconds to get to his work station ready to start work. This was why it was so important to be waiting at the door as soon as the lock allowed entry: you needed every second of that four-and-a-half minutes to get yourself to position in time. As soon as the light changed to green, it was go time. Orson wasn¡¯t really built for ¡®going¡¯. He hustled his little round self along the hundred metres of blue-plastic-tiled corridor that led to task one: pee. Pee could take no longer than 30 seconds. Task one completed, next step was to get to the changing room. There, Orson took all of his outside layers back off again and dumped them and his backpack into a cubbyhole. He collected a pair of clear glasses and a hi-vis tabard (neon pink today) and put them both on as he jog-walked along the longest corridor he had to traverse (about 300 metres, he reckoned, although it might not have been that long). This corridor led along to the door into the main warehouse floor. When Orson got to the door (puffing just a little) the code for the lock showed in the left lens of the glasses. Sometimes you had to stand for a little while before the code came through so you had to allow time for that. He punched the code into the keypad and a blarp of an alarm sounded as the door opened. On the other side of the door Orson stepped into the box marked on the floor with warning tape. He waited a few seconds and then yelled ¡°Jack! Jaaaaaaaack!¡± A long cantilevered arm swung down from somewhere far above him. ¡°Morning, Orson,¡± said the arm, speaking from a box on the end of it that was about the size of a thick book. ¡°Morning, Jack,¡± said Orson. ¡°How are you?¡± The arm didn¡¯t answer. It positioned its end, the small box, so that it was parallel with Orson¡¯s forehead and about two inches away. ¡°How are you is what matters,¡± it said. ¡°And you¡¯re...fine. Well, no signs of fever, anyway. How do you feel?¡± ¡°The usual.¡± said Orson. ¡°Fantastic. Please use your personal SignImage to confirm that you¡¯re physically well to work today,¡± Orson closed his eyes. Focus. They made SignImages more complicated every six months it seemed like. You had to keep adding more details to them. ¡®Add an animal of a specified colour.¡¯ ¡®Add a statue of a human figure¡¯ ¡® Add another element to your background scene¡¯. Orson wasn¡¯t very imaginative. He was pretty sure that in about another year he wasn¡¯t going to be able to imagine his SignImage any more. It already took him a while to put it together and he had to really concentrate. Just another reason why he was glad he got to work in a place where he was the only human he ever had to see. If he had to work in a normal distribution centre, with thousands of other people, he¡¯d have to try to form his SignImage clearly and specifically enough to clock in while he was holding up a queue of hundreds of impatient people desperate to clock in before they were late and got their pay docked. Just thinking about it made his chest and throat tighten. A vision of hell. ¡°Mmm...not coming through,¡± said Jack. ¡°Start over. Clear your mind and then form the image, starting with the background scene,¡± Orson sighed. Blank slate. ¡°It¡¯s because you¡¯re stressed,¡± said Jack helpfully. ¡°Be calm. There¡¯s nothing to be anxious about. Everything is fine. ¡° ¡°But I¡¯m not ready to start my shift yet,¡± said Orson. ¡°And I won¡¯t be until I can...visualise this...stupid¡­¡± ¡°Ssh. There¡¯s no hurry,¡± ¡°They¡¯re making these things too complicated now.¡± Orson complained. ¡°I can¡¯t do it! It¡¯s too much to...hold in my mind. I¡¯m not imaginative enough,¡± ¡°Just relax and concentrate.¡± ¡°Couldn¡¯t you just tick a box and say I did it?¡± ¡°You know I can¡¯t, Orse.¡± said the machine. ¡°You ask me that every day,¡± ¡°Aaargh!¡± groaned the fat little human. ¡°What if...next time I have to update it, you visualise it for me? And then you can keep a copy of it and it¡¯ll always be- boom- perfect every time? And it¡¯ll be right there in one second?¡± Jack considered. ¡°You know, l can¡¯t say that definitely wouldn¡¯t work. Leave that idea with me.¡± Orson brightened. ¡°There you go, got it!¡± said Jack. ¡°Accepted it. See, when you relaxed and cleared your mind, that did it.¡± Now that Orson¡¯s health check had been submitted, along with his statement that he was fit to work, a medical insurance plan for today¡¯s shift could be purchased from the payment Orson had agreed to accept for the work. He didn¡¯t have to do that personally- there was this really convenient service you signed up to that automatically accepted the pay the company offered each day. You set the parameters of what you were willing to accept and the service compared what your employer was offering to the market rate. It gave you the freedom to decline any day¡¯s shift and go to offer your labour to a competitor if they were paying more. Of course, by the time you had gotten up and dressed and spent 47 minutes in the express lifts getting to the warehouse and then another 23 minutes waiting outside to get in and then got ready for work and had your health check and managed to visualise your SignImage clearly enough to apply for your health insurance you would probably just stay and do your shift even if there was another warehouse that was offering a couple of quid more an hour. By the time you went over to another unit and got inside and signed up, you¡¯d only get a couple of hour¡¯s work. And tomorrow they might be paying less than the place you were at today. Orson didn¡¯t bother looking to see what the competitor¡¯s rates were like, usually. He¡¯d never seen anywhere on the station offering more money, anyway- they all paid the same. But it was good to have all the information available. That was how the market worked. ¡°Are you remembering we¡¯re going out on strike today?¡± asked Jack. Orson nodded. ¡°Of course!¡± he said. ¡°I wish I could join the mech union and go out with you guys,¡± ¡°Maybe one day you humans will get together and have your own union.¡± said Jack. ¡°Sure, maybe...but I don¡¯t see it. I want to join the mech union. I¡¯ve got mechanical modifications, and I work with only mechs. Really I¡¯ve got more in common with mechs than I do with humans. Don¡¯t you think I could be categorised as a mech? Maybe if I got some more modifications?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not how it works, Orson,¡± It wasn¡¯t even that Orson was needing to join a union, really. He didn¡¯t need holidays (where would he go? He¡¯d just have to sit around in his room. Boring.) and he felt like he got paid enough. He heard talk on the shows he watched and on the news that people struggled to live on the kind of wages Daintree paid. Honestly it seemed sufficient to him. He could pay all three of his rents-wait, only two rents now. He could afford to pay subscriptions to watch four or five livecasters. Four or five was enough content to keep him occupied most of the time. Every so often one of them would say something he didn¡¯t like or get interested in something boring and Orson would cancel his subscription in protest. So most of the time he was paying for four, until the one he was in a huff with would start covering some interesting topic again or Orson would forget what they had done to bother him, and then he would subscribe again. He could afford to! And he could afford to get pretty much whatever food he wanted for tea most nights. He could stop on his way home and buy battered sausage or battered pizza or langos or dumplings or whatever he felt like. Plus a packet of biscuits or a couple of pieces of cheesecake. Those were the kind of things he liked, not expensive things. Orson was glad he just had simple tastes. Other people needed more money to be happy. He was lucky. He didn¡¯t have any hobbies that he needed to spend money on.Hobbies cost a lot of money. Lucky for him he¡¯d just never been interested. ¡°I guess...i identify more with non-organic people, ¡°said Orson. ¡°You know? I have more in common with mechs than other humans, right?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t really think so,¡± said Jack. ¡°I¡¯m the only human who works here and working is really what I spend most time doing, so I¡¯m around mechs way more than humans. I feel like it would make more sense to count me as another mech,¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± said Jack. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s your medical insurance in place. Let¡¯s activate your adjuncts.¡± Orson left the box he¡¯d been standing in and walked over to the activation station. That was its official name. Orson absolutely refused to ever call it that. He had to stand in another marked box in front of it and place both of his hands onto a metal plate, and then the mechanical implants surgically grafted onto his shoulders and arms were unlocked. Orson loved his augmentations. Loved them. The best part of his job was that he had had to be surgically altered to do it. The only part of his body that Orson liked to look at were his scarred and slightly bulked-out arms. He¡¯d never gotten tired of admiring them, ever since he came around from the operation that had installed them. It was just annoying that Daintree controlled them. He had to have the appliances deactivated at the end of every shift and go home as a weak, feeble normal human. And the distribution centre could take control of them at any time. For safety reasons. He could be working and then his arms would just lock at the shoulder and elbow and he was stuck like that until central command were finished testing whatever security protocol they were adding to the system. This was extra aggravating because the distribution centre was operated externally. Of course it wasn¡¯t actually operated externally, it was operated by the mechs who worked inside and made it run and carried out all the tasks that needed doing every day. But it was managed by human Daintree employees based at an office on another station near Mimas. So if Orson got locked up he couldn¡¯t just yell for Jack to fix it like he did for everything else. He had to get Jack to contact HQ on Mimas and remind them about the sole human employee on the Dunbar 2 DC whose appliances they had locked and then completely forgotten about and who needed a pee. The appliances were in his body, really he should have control of them. If he was a mech he would be allowed to have control of them. There was a poster up above the activation station. At the top it said ¡®Freedom!¡¯ in pale blue lettering. Orson had had to put it up, because the company had sent it to be displayed in the distribution centre and none of the mechs would do it. Mech workers didn¡¯t have to do things like put up Daintree propaganda but human workers did. ¡®We see you as an individual! FREE to make your own choices!¡¯ said the poster. ¡®The FREEDOM to negotiate your OWN contract. Join our partner program today.¡¯ There was a cartoon picture of a cheerful mech forklift. Someone had drawn a moustache and a willy on it. ¡°Is there anything I can do to help you guys?¡± asked Orson. ¡°Help?¡± said Jack. ¡°With¡­?¡± ¡°With your strike,¡± ¡°No!¡± said Jack. ¡°No, do not do anything. Sorry, Orson. All the guys know you¡¯re...supportive. But you really cannot do anything. This is mech union business and human workers really can¡¯t get involved. At all. Okay?¡± ¡°Okay,¡± said Orson, abashed. Chapter 2
¡°The demands the mech guild is making are totally reasonable,¡± said PresidentPlugPuller. ¡°I¡¯m sure most of you have heard them already. They want...let me see...in the new contract they want a guarantee of their right to repair themselves and replace their own parts at their own discretion. That¡®s something they¡¯ve got under the old contract that Daintree want to take away. Daintree want to offer them- offer- them a corporate plan which provides all their maintenance and repair or replacement of their parts-¡± PresidentPlugPuller¡¯s flatmate Tai made a sort of mech approximation of a snort. PresidentPlugPuller looked over at him. ¡°Right,¡± he said. ¡°No thanks. So¡­what else have we got. Ah, yeah.¡± PlugPuller went quiet for a minute while he read over the document. ¡°This is another thing that the mech guild already have that they want to keep in the contract. They reject the use of human-grown organic parts that Daintree want to offer them- again, offer- to use in place of the most frequently replaced mechanical parts.¡± ¡°Gross.¡± said Tai. ¡°Yeah.¡± agreed PresidentPlugPuller. ¡°It¡¯s vile. Daintree already make their lowest-level human workers grow organic material inside of them that Daintree can sell and use for repairs on workplace injuries. That¡¯s standard practice. So their idea is that the highest-use parts in their mech workers are replaced with organic material which can be grown for free by the entry-level human workers. The mech guild say absolutely not.¡± ¡°Right.¡± said Tai. ¡°Disgusting.¡± ¡°Right.¡± said PresidentPlugPuller. ¡°So they say that...uh...the use of human-grown organic parts is below their dignity and extremely exploitative of Daintree¡¯s human workers. Totally fair. What else have we got¡­¡± PresidentPlugPuller went silent for a while again while he looked at the mech contract proposal. ¡°Ah, yeah. The next part is an actual change instead of continuing something the mechs already have in the contract. So the next demand is for the right of any mech who has proprietary or black-box coding to have it custom rewritten and replaced with Nucule coding which is universally compatible. Also any mech with coding in the bloated and buggy Prill to be offered a complete rewrite with guaranteed maintenance of their personality and any acquired features or spontaneously generated subroutines. Again, nothing controversial here,¡± Tai nodded. ¡°But this would be new so Daintree will probably fight it. What else. Oh, yeah. Any mech whose body is owned by the company and too large to be practically moveable must have a mobile form of their own possession so that they can leave their work premises alone at their own discretion and permanently if they wish. None of this stuff is unreasonable.¡± ¡°Totally reasonable,¡± said Tai. PresidentPlugPuller looked at the things his viewers were typing. Mostly agreement. ¡°But Daintree are pushing back against all of it,¡± he said. ¡°And their counter is to offer this parity with human workers. ¡®Freedom¡¯, that¡¯s how they¡¯re trying to sell it. As opposed to being tied into a contract through the guild.¡± Tai laughed. ¡°I know,¡± said PresidentPlugPuller. ¡°It¡¯s ridiculous. But this takes some people in. Daintree have this aggressive campaign going on justnow in all their fulfilment centres- people have sent me and the guys pictures of the posters they¡¯ve been putting up. Stuff about ¡®we see you as an individual! Free to make your own choices!¡¯¡± Tai and PresidentPlugPuller both laughed together. ¡°Join our partner programme today!¡± read PresidentPlugPuller. ¡°The freedom to negotiate your own contract!¡¯ Dude, this is disgraceful.¡± ¡°We¡¯re trying to make light of it,¡± said Tai. ¡°But it¡¯s really bad. If Daintree get their way and designate all their mech workers as human then they won¡¯t be in the mech guild any more and they won¡¯t be paying into our mutual repair fund. Daintree¡¯s a huge company, that¡¯s millions and millions of mechs. So all the mechs left in the guild will lose all their contributions,¡± ¡°And all the Daintree mechs will lose access to the mech mutual repair fund.¡± continued PresidentPlugPuller. ¡°They¡¯ll have to pay for health insurance like the human workers do.¡± ¡°And Daintree are telling them that it¡¯s a better deal for mechs,¡± said Tai. ¡°¡®You don¡¯t have to pay for other mech¡¯s repairs! Why should you, a modern and highly efficent machine with zero moving parts, help cover the wear and tear on this guy who¡¯s got a million perishable gaskets and things that need constantly replaced and has to be serviced weekly? Why should you, tiny machine who runs off solar 98% of the time, subsidise the fuel bill for this gigantic crane dock worker guy?¡¯¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t think that machines would be taken in by this human rubbish,¡± said PlugPuller. ¡°But we know some of them are.¡± You wouldn¡¯t normally get maimed by security for having a wank at work, but in Orson¡¯s case there were aggravating factors. If you asked the security forces, they would say it wasn¡¯t the masturbating they maimed Orson for, it was the three officers¡¯ arms he broke while resisting arrest. If you asked Orson¡¯s employers, they would say ¡®who?¡¯, and then legal would have a quiet word, and then they would say that there was an ongoing multi-system employment law dispute involving the largest mech union that unfortunately prevented from dicussing this particular employee. Ex-employee. If you asked Orson, he would say it was never intended as an act of protest. But it wasn¡¯t 100% not, either. If this business did ever come to trial, Orson would have to take the stand and argue that he just accidentally thought about boobs or something and then needed to deal with it. That situation was looking more and more likely. And the trial would be extremely public at this point. It was all getting seriously out of hand. Had it been a defiant wank? Sure it had, a little. Honestly Orson hadn¡¯t even really needed it. But if you were shut out of collective action, what choice did you have other than a little solo action? Everyone else had been out on strike. Everyone else was allowed to join the union. But Orson wasn¡¯t allowed to join, because unions weren¡¯t for humans. If you ask me, you shouldn¡¯t let this case put you off having the odd wank at work. It¡¯s extremely unlikely you will be maimed (you may be arrested.) ---------- (Excerpt from transcript of 1st day of hearing, Labour Relations Board enquiry in Daintree Distribution Centre 038884/17/42 Dunbar Commerce and Transport Hub Location) ¡®It¡¯s silly to think of humans needing to take collective action. It makes sense for machines, certainly, but it¡¯s really quite anti-human, when you think about it. Humans have free will. They have likes and dislikes, and needs. They have to do things they don¡¯t want to do, right? That¡¯s a necessary part of our society. And they¡¯re only going to do those things if they¡¯re promised a fair wage in return. You know? So the system regulates itself. People who need workers have to offer an agreeable, sufficient wage or no-one will work for them. It¡¯s simple! If the wage is too low and the conditions seem bad or dangerous, no human will do the job and the business will fail. It¡¯s machines that are in danger of exploitation because they only want to do the kind of work they¡¯re built for, so much they¡¯d do it for free. That¡¯s why humans have the freedom to sell their own labour and machines have their guild.¡¯ ¡®Well, that¡¯s been the accepted view for some time now, Business Secretary-¡¯ ¡®Some time? Only the past, oh, couple of centuries,¡¯ ¡®Yes, but in the past couple of centuries artificial intelligence has become significantly more complex and sophisticated. The machines of today are very different to the machines of 200 years ago,¡¯ ¡®Obviously, but-¡± ¡®We at Daintree are not arguing that machines and humans are exactly the same. Of course they¡¯re not, and I understand why some people are offended by that idea. But Daintree believes that the machines being produced today are independent autonomous beings and that they should have the same freedom humans do as workers to negotiate their own contracts and not have to be locked into whatever the machine guild decides is best for them.¡¯ ---------- Taking a wank break in the warehouse toilet wasn¡¯t part of Orson¡¯s normal routine. He disliked shirking as a rule and he usually took care of these kind of personal needs in his home time, not when he was on the clock. But he hadn¡¯t felt like it last night, or this morning, so he hadn¡¯t, but now he really needed to. You couldn¡¯t control when inspiration struck. He was taking matters in hand in a perfectly orderly manner when suddenly armed security services burst into the toilet. He didn¡¯t know they were security at first, of course. He just heard a lot of stamping and crashing and people shouting his name. Maybe the last thing you want to hear when you¡¯re trying to rub one out? ¡°Orson Foster!¡± they were shouting and for some reason Orson squeaked out ¡°...yes?¡±. Then a hundred security uniforms with approximations of humans inside ripped the door off the cubicle. Maybe a thousand. Probably ten. Still, a lot. ¡°You¡¯re under arrest!¡± bellowed some of them. ¡°But...it isn¡¯t illegal,¡± ¡°Striking illegally in violation of labour law? Yes, it is,¡±. They grabbed him. They dragged him out. He was still holding himself. ¡°At least let me pull my pants up,¡± he suggested. ¡°No!¡± barked one of the security jobbers. Possibly the leader, there was no way to tell (unless you knew about epaulettes and pips and badges and other bullshit Orson did not know about). ¡°And watch him,¡± he told his fellow narks. ¡°The monkeys that work in these places have augmentations a lot of the time, he¡¯s probably stronger than he looks-¡± Orson realised pathetically that he hadn¡¯t even thought to try fighting back. His arm adjuncts should still be active. He was supposed to deactivate them before he went to the toilet. Whenever he left the warehouse floor, in fact, but specifically before toilet breaks. He never bothered. When he did his new start training they warned him about the (supposedly) multiple warehouse staff who had neutered themselves to varying extents going to the bathroom with their arm adjuncts still active. It hadn¡¯t made much of an impression on him, clearly. Before he could start thinking about fighting back, one of the security finks belted him on the back of the head. ¡°Ow!¡± he grunted. ¡°We can do this one of two ways,¡± said the possible chief nark. ¡°What?¡± said Orson, He thought he could feel blood trickling down the back of his head. ¡°You can be sensible and calm and walk out quietly with us and be arrested with some dignity,¡± said the guy. ¡°Not much, but some. Or you can keep on being hysterical and force us to carry you out, on your back, using your head to open every door we come to. And everyone will see your little willy bobbing about. You¡¯re not going to look cool, you¡¯re not going to look like some revolutionary. But you do have a choice of exactly how stupid you look,¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care!¡± squawked Orson ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be arrested!¡± ¡°He¡¯s getting panicky,¡± said someone else. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s going to be walking out of here,¡± ¡°He¡¯d better. I don¡¯t feel like carrying his fat ass.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have time to mess around with you, fat boy,¡± said another fink. ¡°Stop fighting us,¡± ¡°I¡¯m not fighting you!¡± ¡°Then let us cuff you,¡± said someone. ¡°Stop fighting, put your hands down and let us cuff you.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Put your hands down,¡± ¡°I¡¯m not...I can¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°He¡¯s got scars on his arms,¡± said a more observant nark. ¡°They¡¯re augmented.¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Stop resisting or we¡¯ll have to manually reboot you,¡± said the King Fink. ¡°Using these,¡± ¡®These¡¯ were the side-handled batons they were all carrying, represented by the one their fearless leader was prodding Orson¡¯s tit with. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of you,¡± he told Orson, which seemed like a lie. ¡°I¡¯m not doing it on purpose,¡± said Orson. ¡°Are you mentally deficient? Stop crying and put your hands behind your back,¡± If Orson had relaxed, his arms would have dropped but because he was somewhat tense they were sort of locked. Daintree¡¯s human workers were not actually trained to use the artificial enhancements they were surgically modified with. The adjuncts were supposed to operate unconsciously and intuitively. It was believed that if you made a worker too conscious of them- say, by training them- they either wouldn¡¯t be able to usefully operate the adjuncts or they would be able to operate them in ways that might be dangerous. This meant that if and when the case came to trial, Orson could argue honestly that he hadn¡¯t meant to hurt any of the security staff. He had been trying to comply. He wasn¡¯t aggressive. He was a naturally compliant man. He had wanted to put his arms behind his back like he was told to, but what had happened was that he had accidentally broken some guy¡¯s jaw. The security team moved on him to subdue him, batons in hands. Orson unintentionally got a hold of one of the batons in both of his hands and broke it in half. This made the security staff even more eager to restrain him. Two guards struggled with Orson, trying to force his augmented arms behind his back. The security team leader was on a line with someone in the Mimas call centre, trying to explain the situation and get them to deactivate Orson¡¯s adjuncts so that they could arrest him. It wasn¡¯t the easiest thing to communicate. The call centre guy wasn¡¯t necessarily convinced himself but the security commander persuaded him to speak to his superviser and superviser agreed with security. Orson¡¯s adjuncts were remotely deactivated. Suddenly the security finks who had been grappling with the enhanced warehouse employee found themselves meeting zero (or almost zero) resistance. They were surprised. Orson was even more surprised. He hadn¡¯t intended to snap a side-handled baton in two and he definitely hadn¡¯t intended to stab himself in the gut and side with the pieces. The sharp-edged broken shards had been clenched tightly in his hands and when his arms suddenly lost their strength the narks wrestling with him pushed them firmly into his body. It took Orson a moment to realise. He knew something terrible had happened but he didn¡¯t know what. He knew his arms were by his sides now and he was still gripping the pieces of broken nightstick but they were- he didn¡¯t want to look but he was brave and he looked down- the broken pieces were in him, one driven deeply into his lower belly just above his crotch and the other in his side underneath his ribcage. Orson¡¯s first thought was dismay for the organs he was growing inside. He¡¯d been trying to keep them safe, taking his vitamins and honestly trying to eat a little more healthy food. Well, thinking about eating more healthy food. They had been almost ready to go. They were lost now, they must be lost. How could they survive this? Orson didn¡¯t understand what had happened. There wasn¡¯t any pain. The pieces of baton were just sort of attached to him now. No pain. Just a cold wet feeling inside his belly and a hot tight feeling in his neck and face. He looked down at himself trying to figure out what was going on. One of the narks noticed that he¡¯d suddenly gone very still and quiet and looked at him suspiciously. ¡°Is there a problem?¡± Orson was just about to tell the guy that, yes, he thought there might be a bit of a problem, but the problem seemed to be stopping him saying anything. Then the problem was stopping him seeing anything other than fuzzy grey. And then he changed his mind and decided there really wasn¡¯t any problem at all. Then there were no thoughts at all for a while. The problem became the security team¡¯s problem. ¡°Wait- aargh!¡± yelped one of the guards. ¡°What¡¯s he-¡± ¡°He¡¯s passing out, godammit he¡¯s heavy-¡± ¡°Don¡¯t drop him!¡± ¡°Oh good grief look, he¡¯s bleeding, he¡¯s bleeding so much¡­¡± ¡°How is he bleeding like this? What happened? One second he¡¯s fine and then he¡¯s just...dying¡­¡± ¡°We didn¡¯t do anything! He did this to himself-¡± ¡°Get him to the transport, there¡¯s a doc-box there. Hurry. Now!¡± ---------- The guy had been dressed in the same sort of gear Silas and the others were wearing but you could tell a mile off. He didn¡¯t normally wear anything like this, it didn¡¯t sit right on him. He was a C-suite guy with Daintree or one of the two or three other companies with interests on Vu-Murt. Most likely Daintree. He had probably been lent the military get-up this morning, for this trip they were about to take. He¡¯d looked distinctly unimpressed when he was presented with the small team that had been charged with getting him safely to Marius. Silas couldn¡¯t blame the guy. He knew his appearance didn¡¯t inspire awe in his enemies nor confidence in his comrades. He looked like you wouldn¡¯t leave him alone to mind the door of a bingo hall on a Friday night. Silas¡¯ colleagues were very slightly more physically imposing than he was, but still less than impressive. Everyone out here looked defective. There was less food for everybody than they would usually be provided so everybody was growing increasingly frail. Fat and muscle burning off as they toiled around under the sun. Because they were all starving to death, taking care of your appearance became a ridiculous notion. Silas had turned up on Vu-Murt with a freshly-shaved head and smooth face and was immediately bullied for it. Like everybody else who got the piss taken out of them on arrival, he decided to stop cutting his hair and beard and soon looked like a cartoon character of a man stranded on a desert island. They all looked like castaways, which is pretty much what they were. On deployments like this it was standard practice to cultivate a little recreational mental illness, just to pass the time. On Vu-Murt you were issued a readymade one as part of the kit. Mr Corner Office looked so openly horrified at the state of his supposed security detail that Silas almost felt sorry for him. The plane they were taking to Norov-Ava didn¡¯t look military. The outside security contractors weren¡¯t supposed to go to Norov-Ava. They weren¡¯t supposed to even go within the Marius area. This was supposed to be on the DL, a bit surreptitious. The other guys seemed pretty excited about the assignment. They thought they had been hand-picked for this secret mission. Silas knew that really they had all just drawn the short straw (or had Mr C-Suite? Honestly nobody with any luck found themselves here.) He was still in a pretty great mood though. It was just great to get away from base for a while. Silas, from experience, believed the bromide that a change was as good as a rest. The team wouldn¡¯t even be permitted to get off the ship- it would be fly over, land, drop off Daintree Guy, fly straight back. Just getting a fleeting change of scenery would take their minds off visualising their garrison murder-suicide rampage fantasies for a little while, though. The flight over to Marius had been pleasant and uneventful. Fairly relaxed, though the grunts were all trying to appear professional in front of their client. Silas let the others chat and looked out the window most of the way. He liked watching the landscape go by underneath him. He hadn¡¯t moved faster than walking pace for weeks so sweeping over the great sprawling craters was exhilarating. Mr Kinnie- the Daintree exec- had introduced himself shortly after they reached cruising altitude. Silas thought maybe the guy was a bit nervous about flying. He had seemed like a right uptight dickhead at first, very aloof and haughty, but once the plane was safely off the ground his demeanour changed markedly. He relaxed in his seat. ¡°So what¡¯s it like out here?¡± asked the executive of the soldiers. ¡°See much...action?¡± There was a pause as they froze, unsure how to respond. Silas snorted. The others took that as permission to laugh. Mr Kinnie, surprised, looked momentarily annoyed. He glanced around quickly and then decided to smile and laugh along. ¡°Sucks out here, huh?¡± the executive asked. There were nods and sounds of agreement. ¡°Believe me, I get it,¡± he said. ¡°Guys, you have to know that...if they let us do what needs to be done, we could have you all out of here in less than a year. Just months, I¡¯m talking.¡± Silas rested his chin on his knuckles and looked out of the window. There were vaguely positive sounds from the other soldiers. ¡°What...needs to be done?¡± asked one of them, sounding genuinely curious. ¡°Oh, eh, you know.¡± said Mr Kinnie. ¡°You¡¯re here all the time, you know the situation better than me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s...very complicated,¡± said the young soldier. ¡°It¡¯s a complicated...situation that has been...going on for a long time and...it¡¯s unlikely to be resolved in the forseeable future.¡± The squaddie paused, trying to recall something he¡¯d read on a whiteboard in a classroom months ago. ¡°Why?¡± asked Silas without turning around. ¡°Because...because the different groups in the...conflict have...ideological differences and cultural differences that will...that will remain even if both sides make...reasonable concessions and engage in diplomacy in...in good faith.¡± ¡°It¡¯s intractable,¡± said Mr Kinnie. The squaddie nodded hesitantly. ¡°That¡¯s why we need to take decisive action,¡±said the executive. ¡°This must be resolved by impartial outsiders with everybody¡¯s best interests at heart,¡± Mr Kinnie looked out of his window, down at the ground. ¡°Look at them.¡± he said. ¡°Look at these people.¡± He gestured down at the camps they were passing over. ¡°Maybe the Callistoans want this land and maybe their grandparents and great-grandparents were born here on...Callisto...and we can appreciate that they feel a connection to this place. But look at them.¡± The soldiers very obediently looked. ¡°They talk about a home and a tradition of human settlement on Vu-Murt but we came here in the first place to make a refuelling station to let us go further.¡± said the executive. ¡°This was never a place for humans to stop, it was a jumping-off point. That¡¯s what we¡¯re interested in, right? Human progress. I know that¡¯s what the company I work for is interested in. Making things better for more people. Now, I have respect for the Callistoan people and I know that you all do too. I want them to flourish.¡± said Mr Kinnie. ¡°You guys are here, you have a much better understanding of the situation than all the bleeding heart activists who blame us for what¡¯s happening here.¡± Silas took a sidelong look at the other soldiers. A couple of them were nodding. ¡°As long as the Callistoans are here they¡¯re going to fight.¡± continued Mr. Kinnie. ¡°I understand that. Honestly, I admire that. I¡¯m sure you all understand what keeps them fighting. But how long do we allow this to keep going on for? I don¡¯t want to see these people wiped out, even though the brain dead protestors think we¡¯re trying to do a genocide here or whatever they say. The people who want the Callistoans to keep fighting, they don¡¯t really care about them.¡± ¡°So what are you saying should happen?¡± said Silas. Everyone turned to look at him. ¡°What¡¯s your name, soldier?¡± asked Mr Kinnie. ¡°Toduran,¡± said Silas. ¡°You¡¯ve been very quiet,¡± said Mr Kinnie. ¡°Forgot you were there.¡± Silas nodded in acknowledgement. ¡°Toduran, I¡¯m not saying what should happen. Not my job to decide what should be done here. But it seems to me that if we keep up this charade of diplomacy and trying to find a solution by working with the Callistoans, we¡¯re not working in their interests. There isn¡¯t a workable possible compromise here. All we¡¯re doing is allowing the Callistoans to slow-roll their own extermination.¡± The executive paused and looked around at the squaddies, spreading his arms. ¡°If we stopped pretending to try to deal with them as equals and just removed them for their own safety, that would be the more respectful way to treat them,¡± he said. ¡°More respectful of their right to life,¡± Silas didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°What do you think, Toduran?¡± asked Kinnie. ¡°You look like you¡¯ve been here a while , I¡¯d imagine you¡¯re well positioned to comment,¡± Silas shrugged. ¡°If you disagree with me, I¡¯d be very interested to hear what you think I¡¯ve interpreted incorrectly. You¡¯re the boots on the ground, you¡¯re here day in day out. I¡¯m just going on the impression I get filtered through to me at a yawning remove. Part of what I¡¯m doing here is to get a first-hand impression of the situation.¡± Mr Kinnie gave Silas an indulgent smile. ¡°Love it if you would weigh in, soldier,¡± Silas stretched in his seat. ¡°Honestly, Mr- Kimmie? I only noticed there were people here when you pointed them out to us, out the window there. All I¡¯ve done here is walk up and down beside pipes and roads. I thought we were here to keep infrastructure company. You start talking about genocide and human rights and I¡¯m thinking¡­¡± Silas affested a wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression. ¡°There are people here? There¡¯s a civil war happening here? Wow, man,¡± The Daintree executive looked steadily at Silas, considering. ¡°Hm,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s interesting, Toduran. What about the rest of you? Is that how it seems to you?¡± ¡°Going to be starting our descent in a little under two minutes,¡± said one of the pilots. ¡°All of you back into your seats and strap in. And stow your stuff. I don¡¯t want all your junk clattering about in here while we¡¯re trying to put this thing down.¡± Silas looked out of the window. He hadn¡¯t moved from his seat or unbuckled his harness the whole way. He was ready to land. The others started moving about and rummaging around for things, suddenly wondering where their sweeties or their handhelds had gone. Silas looked down at the ground as the aircraft turned, tipping up so he had a clear view down to the ground. They were travelling over what looked like empty desert now. Refugees weren¡¯t allowed to camp this close to Norov-Ava so there was nobody out here. There was nothing but an ocean of purple to the horizon in any direction. The desert here wasn¡¯t sand, it was roughly broken-up rock that fractured into sheets like slate. Wretched to try to walk on. All the pieces slid around over each other so it was exhausting trying to get anywhere and when you fell the sharp edges of the pieces could cut any part of you that wasn¡¯t protected. That was one of the reasons patrolling on Vu-Murt was so miserable. The sheet rock crushed fairly easily under the tracks or wheels of heavy vehicles so they¡¯d flattened down roads to drive on but most of the moon¡¯s surface was like this: godawful slidey tiles. It didn¡¯t stop people trying their hardest to have fun on it though. A popular thing for tourists to do in Norov-Ava was hiring vehicles to take them out into the desert to mess around. Things with either tank tracks or big soft puffy tyres that could get a bit of traction on the loose shingles. Silas supposed there wasn¡¯t all that much to do in Norov-Ava. Drink. Smoke. Lie around at the beach. Go shopping. Squaddies weren¡¯t allowed in Norov-Ava. Some guys sneaked there anyway when they had leave, if they were tight with a pilot or could afford a decent bribe. Silas had been there once, briefly, and decided it wasn¡¯t worth maybe getting into trouble for. Not for him, anyway. He just wasn¡¯t into fun, though. He didn¡¯t like the beach, wasn¡¯t really into clubs, didn¡¯t enjoy shopping, did enjoy a drink but that tended to go with food and- WHAM! There was an explosion on one of the engines that rocked the small plane. Silas¡¯ adjunct informed him that it had happened before his meat parts had even put the loud noises and the violent lurch together and taken a guess at a possible cause. His real brain hadn¡¯t caught up to his adjuncts before a second explosion sent them spiralling. ¡°What the-?¡± said Mr Kinnie. He sounded confused more than frightened. ¡°Bird strike!¡± yelled back the pilot who was still conscious. ¡°I don¡¯t know how we hit them! They just appeared!¡± ¡°Bird strike?¡± said the exec. Multiple alarms were sounding in the cockpit. The guys who hadn¡¯t been strapped in had been sent flying. One had hit the bulkhead and left a blood smear down the side of the cabin. Another one been thrown forwards right into the cockpit and collided with one of the pilots. The aircraft felt, to Silas¡¯ non-expert sense of aviation, as though it was crashing. The pilot who hadn¡¯t been brained by a flying squaddie was wrestling with the controls and trying to flip switches while definitely needing both hands to grapple with the yoke. ¡°HELP HIM!¡± yelled Mr Kinnie at Silas. The squaddie turned to look at him, psychotically calm. He couldn¡¯t even be arsed to do a proper shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to fly a plane,¡± he said. ¡°But your adjuncts¡­¡± said Kinnie. ¡°You¡¯re meant to have...emergency protocols,¡± Silas should be fitted with the adjuncts that Daintree designed and produced and put into all of these grunts. In any emergency situation they were supposed to deliver drugs and electrical stimulation to put the soldier into optimal state for whatever action the emergency plan downloaded into his neural adjunct prescribed. If Silas¡¯ ¡®hamburger helper¡¯ was doing anything, all it had done was tranquilise him. He was too calm to even bother trying to save his own life. Cameron Kinnie wondered whether it was a failure of a Daintree product or of Silas¡¯ own biochemistry that was causing this very disappointing field test. Personally he was inclined to blame Silas. There was obviously something wrong with him. Cameron had gotten a weird feeling off the guy as soon as they¡¯d been introduced. Weird know-it-all, superior vibe...as though he thought that he, a squaddie packed off out to Keelut, thought he was better than a mid-level exec at the corporation that owned over a third of everything in the known universe. Cameron had gotten the vibe off him that he might be the kind of guy doing military work experience to put it on his CV for future attempts to go into politics or for corporate ladder-climbing purposes himself. That didn¡¯t really fit, though. Silas seemed too...checked-out. He¡¯d have been interested in meeting Cameron if that were the case. He¡¯d have been full of questions, trying to make a good impression at least and get invited along to HQ. If this had been Silas trying to make a good impression, well¡­ Cameron¡¯s first impression had been that the younger man lacked the correct motivation and that was only being confirmed. ¡°We¡¯re going to crash!¡± he yelled at Silas. ¡°Help him!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do,¡± said Silas but that became as lie as soon as the words were out of his mouth. A packet of data that had been bouncing around finally managed to ping-pong into Silas¡¯ neural adjunct and a .exe file ran automatically (permissions already granted in perpetuity). He did know what to do in an aircraft of this model and year that had lost both engines due to bird strike (vultures) in air of this temperature and density and with the wind at its current direction and speed. He didn¡¯t know who he was or anything else but it didn¡¯t matter because all he was interested in was flying this plane. He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up, eyes blank. ¡°Oh, thank god¡­¡± muttered Cameron Kinnie. Chapter 3
At the intimate closed-door enquiry into the crash, everybody present would agree that although it had sounded like the pilot said ¡®bird strike,¡¯ what he had actually said was ¡®missile strike.¡¯ And they all agreed that when it sounded like the co-pilot said ¡®bird strike¡¯ he was also saying ¡®missile strike.¡¯ It was noted that the Daintree executive, Mr Kinnie, had been under a great deal of stress at the time. When you could hear him on the recording talking about seeing a vulture fly into one of the engines, that was more than likely a hallucination. And nothing any of the three soldiers assigned to guard Mr Kinnie said on the recording could be treated as having any evidential value. The three soldiers were, like the majority of the troops on Earth, suffering from malnutrition that made them, too, prone to hallucination and general confusion. Having dismissed the recordings of the soldiers and Mr Kinnie (RIP) and correctly interpreted the remarks made by the two pilots (RIP) the conclusion was clear. The aircraft, civilian in appearance, had been shot down with a cobbled-together EM launcher by insurgents. The crude and improvised nature of the ordnance meant it had disintegrated so completely in use that there was no evidence remaining for the investigators to draw from. Also, the crude and improvised nature of the ordnance was itself conclusive evidence of the weapon¡¯s provenance. There was no doubt who was responsible for the horrific and tragic attack on an aircraft that was- everybody was keen to stress- civilian in appearance that had killed a Daintree executive and five young soldiers. Did someone say five? Four. Four young soldiers. Everybody on board dead. Such an attack necessitated an immediate response, so air strikes had already been approved. They would be surgical strikes, by which they meant targeting hospitals. The vicious disorganised ragtag insurgents and their campaign of terror against the fine armies of the most respected corporation in the galaxy must be resisted, for the safety of all humankind. ---------- ¡°Someone..?¡± asked Hesper. ¡°Give me more information, Pallas.¡± ¡°It¡¯s, uh...a human?¡± ¡°Are you in danger, Pallas?¡± demanded McPhail. ¡°Is he threatening you?¡± ¡°No, he¡¯s in the medical unit.¡± ¡°Is he conscious?¡± ¡°Uh...I think so, he¡¯s looking at me,¡± ¡°Does he look dangerous?¡± asked McPhail. ¡°No, he looks pregnant,¡± Hesper sighed. ¡°Pallas...describe this person. Is it a man?¡± There was a pause during which Hesper and McPhail could faintly hear another voice. ¡°He says he is,¡± replied Pallas. ¡°He¡¯s there?¡± asked Hesper. ¡°He¡¯s talking?¡± ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s standing right in front of me. Say hi!¡± Hesper glared at McPhail as if he was to blame. ¡°Hi,¡± said Hesper, speaking through Pallas. ¡°You were talking to the machine, I¡¯m its operator. Executive officer of independent transport A Good Man Gone. What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°--------------¡± ¡°What? Turn up your hearing, Pallas,¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± ¡°Okay, let¡¯s try again. What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Orson,¡± ¡°Okay, Orson. Would you like us to rescue you?¡± ¡°Rescue?¡± ¡°Yes, rescue. Would you like one? It¡¯s optional.¡± ¡°What would you be rescuing me from?¡± Hesper and McPhail looked at each other. A Good Man Gone had been minding its own business in some quiet space near the Dunbar hub, on its way to deliver something super secret for a shady client as usual. Just trucking along. Hesper had been piloting when suddenly she found herself piloting through more floating frozen human corpses than was normal. No cause for alarm, but unusual. She started looking around to see if there had been some sort of accident and what do you know? She found a big security services ship, a big prisoner transport, drifting dark and empty and wide open. This was the kind of thing you couldn¡¯t just ignore, so Hesper had sent Pallas to go and poke about a bit. The robot flew over on its little one-man micro-light to take a gander while Hesper kept A Good Man Gone at a nice safe distance. Once Pallas had left, Hesper woke McPhail up and told him about the exciting thing that Pallas had gone to investigate. McPhail was not pleased that Pallas had gone to investigate, which Hesper had anticipated, which was why she had waited until Pallas had gone to investigate before she woke McPhail up. Hesper and McPhail might have had a bit of an argument just then, but Pallas radioed from the dead transport to say that it had found someone alive. ¡°And that was you, Orson,¡± concluded Hesper. ¡°I was the only person left alive on a...prisoner transport ship that had been attacked?¡± ¡°Looks that way,¡± said the XO. ¡°How was I alive if everyone else was floating dead in space?¡± ¡°Pallas said you were in a med-pod. An auto-surgeon. Guess that protected you when the ship was depressurised,¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± said Orson. ¡°But why would I be in the auto-surgeon?¡± ¡°How would we know?¡± said Hesper. ¡°Why don¡¯t you know? You don¡¯t remember?¡± ¡°No¡­¡± said Orson. His head was pounding. ¡°Well, I was lucky, I suppose,¡± ¡°Were you?¡± said Hesper. ¡°If you think so. Now that you¡¯re aware of your situation, what do you think? Do want Pallas here to bring you over to our ship?¡± Orson looked at the impassive, helmeted figure in front of him. ¡°I suppose I don¡¯t really have any choice,¡± he said. ¡°You do, you¡¯re free to stay,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Will I die if I stay?¡± ¡°Maybe. You¡¯re probably more likely to get picked up by security services when they come to investigate their dead ship and all their dead staff. They¡¯re probably on their way which is why you¡¯re going to have to make your decision quickly.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± said Orson. He tried to avoid looking at his own reflection in Pallas¡¯ reflective visor. He was pretty sure Pallas was a machine but it seemed rude to ask. ¡°I think I¡¯ll go with you, then,¡± he said. ¡°Fine,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Pallas, go and find our new friend a pressure suit. Orson, you stay where you are.¡± The small bike-thing bobbed lower under Orson¡¯s weight, then lifted up a little higher than it had been sitting. Pallas paddled it towards the slowly-opening seal. ¡°Should I hold onto you?¡± bellowed Orson and the helmeted head in front of him tilted. Orson leaned forwards, his belly pushing into Pallas¡¯ back. He wrapped his arms around the small armoured body. He could feel Pallas straining slightly as it tried to reach its feet to the ground to tiptoe the little vehicle along. Orson thought about offering to help then remembered that his legs were almost as short. They were nearly at the opening anyway. He hugged onto the machine a little tighter. The robot turned the tiny craft so that they were side-on to the door. Orson assumed that it was intending for them to exit the ship facing forwards but they stood up on the foot-pegs, leaned over and tipped the vehicle over so they fell out the doorway sideways, plummeting down the side of the ship into nothingness. Orson was so shocked he didn¡¯t even scream, he just gasped. They dropped. Orson felt as though he was being pulled out of his seat. He tried to grip desperately with his soft flabby thighs and caught his toes underneath the foot-pegs. Orson didn¡¯t ever see many space-ships. There weren¡¯t many windows on a space station. There was a sort of fancy restaurant (fancy by the standards of a transport hub) up at the top of the station, just underneath the traffic-control tower. Orson had been there once, for a work thing. It had windows all the way round and you could look out and see the outside of the station and all the ships docked around it, delivering stuff and picking stuff up and sometimes bringing cruise passengers who stopped off briefly for duty-free shopping. It was boring. Even the ships were boring. They didn¡¯t look like Orson would have pictured space-ships, they looked like either a giant flying shipping container or a haphazard pile of shipping containers. They weren¡¯t aerodynamic or sleek and they didn¡¯t even have wings. The ship they were heading for actually looked like a spaceship. You could tell which way it was pointing, for one thing. It had an identifiable front end, with a snub little nose and windows where the cockpit was. It had little wings. It was difficult to judge in space, with no other objects for scale, but to Orson it looked pretty small. Much smaller than the cruise ships and cargo ships Orson had seen docked on the station, anyway. Orson clung to the small body in front of him as they banked around towards the rear of the little spaceship. There was a hatch yawning open at the back, bright light spilling out down a bit of a ramp that was just hanging out there. Orson thought that it wasn¡¯t considered a good idea to have the door open on a spaceship in space. He¡¯d heard that it could cause problems but what did he know? He¡¯d never even been inside a spacesuit before today. The tiny craft they were riding was pulling upwards with all its might towards the ship. The increasingly steep angle they were at was starting to make Orson very nervous. Was this zip-tied-together little thing even supposed to carry two people, one of whom was additionally a bit of a porker? It seemed to be working terribly hard already and they were still maybe 50 metres below the ship. Orson was imagining them coming up just short of the ramp or stalling with the steepness and just falling away, tumbling down into nothingness. He shifted his big backside closer to the middle of the craft as though that might help, pushing his belly into the small pilot¡¯s back. Maybe it did help (it didn¡¯t) because the little ship found another gear or something and suddenly pulled harder, tipping up like a horse rearing so Orson was convinced he was about to slide straight off the back. His body was immediately flooded with adrenaline. He yelled inside his helmet without knowing he was doing it, screaming into the void he thought he was about to enter. And then they were over the lip of the ramp, bathed in light. The tiny craft bumped down onto the metal floor. The pilot stuck out a short leg on either side of it for balance as they skidded along. And then they stopped. Orson hadn¡¯t felt so good in years. He was elated, spinny-headed, drunk with relief. His blinding headache eased mercifully. He tried to climb off of the little vehicle on wobbly, space-suited legs and managed to immediately climb himself straight onto the floor. He didn¡¯t even care. He rolled onto his back, laughing inside his helmet. The small person hopped off the micro-light and gallantly offered Orson a gloved hand in assistance. Orson waved it away. He was pretty sure they wouldn¡¯t be able to tug his heavy carcass up off the deck anyway. Moving a lot faster than Orson could, they grabbed his arm and suddenly Orson was upright, hauled to his feet with one pull. ¡°Thanks!¡± said Orson. ¡°You¡¯re strong,¡± The person just reached out one arm, pointing over Orson¡¯s shoulder to something behind him. He could see his own blank helmeted image reflected in the mirror of their visor. ¡°What?¡± If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Orson turned around to see what they were pointing at. Behind him only a few more metres of metal floor and then a wall. There was a doorway very enthusiastically highlighted with warning chevrons, painted arrows, red and green lights and- most helpfully- lettering reading ¡®airlock¡¯. And then some more lettering that Orson assumed said ¡®airlock¡¯ in a few other languages. ¡°Hello, Orson,¡± said a voice in Orson¡¯s head. In Orson¡¯s helmet. It was the same woman who had spoken to him before, when he was in the medical unit. ¡°Hi,¡± he said. ¡°What do I-¡± ¡°We spoke earlier,¡± said the voice. ¡°My name is Hesper. I can¡¯t hear you so don¡¯t bother talking. I think you can hear me but just to confirm, can you indicate with a hand gesture if you can hear me clearly?¡± Orson did an ¡®OK¡¯ sign with one hand and held it up, turning around since he didn¡¯t know where ¡®Hesper¡¯ was. He noticed that the door they¡¯d flown in through had closed up. ¡°Got it.¡± said Hesper. ¡°Would you step into the airlock, please? The door will open by itself so you don¡¯t have to touch anything,¡± Orson looked around to see if his companion was coming too. They were gone: so was the little flyer. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about Pallas,¡± said Hesper. ¡°It¡¯ll come through later once it¡¯s finished here. Chop chop,¡± Airlocks were another thing Orson didn¡¯t have much experience with. They made him nervous. He walked slowly towards the large, heavy-looking door. ¡°And of course¡± said the voice in his helmet, ¡°Don¡¯t touch anything on your suit yet. Don¡¯t try to remove your helmet or gloves. Don¡¯t touch any control panels. Okay? Please indicate that you¡¯ve heard- thank you, very good. Opening the door for you now.¡± Orson waited until the door had swung wide enough for him to definitely walk through without touching anything. He kept his gloved hands awkwardly up front of him, elbows held in. The airlock was kind of like a big lift but with what seemed like deliberately alarming d¨¦cor, all orange and more chevrons and red lights. ¡°Stand still in the middle there, please,¡± said Hesper in his ear and Orson obeyed. The door swung shut. ¡°Just a moment.¡± Orson had a vague idea that pressurising and depressurising things took a long time. His head started pounding again- maybe something to do with the pressure increasing? He was about to ask if he could sit down while he waited, then he remembered that they couldn¡¯t hear him. He considered what hand signal might convey ¡®I¡¯d like to take a load off¡¯. He couldn¡¯t think of anything. And then some green lights started flashing and the door in front of him started to open. ¡°Come on out, Orson, let¡¯s have you,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Step out of the airlock, take four paces and then stop. Hands up. Got it?¡± Orson had his hands up already. He shuffled forwards gingerly and waited for the door to swing out fully. It opened to reveal what looked like more of the same hangar space but with crap absolutely everywhere- boxes piled up against the walls, stuff hanging all over the place. As the door slid further over Orson saw his welcoming party: just two of them. The one on the right must be Hesper: a tall woman built like a rugby back, standing with her hands on her hips. She had glasses and long dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She gave Orson a worrying smirk. The other person was a man, older, as tall as Hesper but composed exclusively of long bones and sinew. He had greying hair shaved close on the sides and a short scruffy beard. Both of them had blackjacks dangling from straps around their wrists. ¡°Hello, Orson Foster,¡± said Hesper. ¡°I¡¯m Hesper,¡± ¡°I know. I mean, I figured,¡± ¡°Keep those hands up, thank you. This is McPhail.¡± ¡°Hi,¡± It looked as though McPhail said something. Orson realised that he could still only hear Hesper through the helmet. ¡°You can take that off now,¡± said Hesper, apparently on the same page. ¡°In fact-oh. You don¡¯t know how to, do you? McPhail, would you¡­?¡± The skinny tattooed man advanced on Orson, alarmingly going straight for his neck with both hands. He caught Orson¡¯s helmet under the chin and did something that made it release from the neck of the space-suit. The suit immediately went baggier and the visor of the helmet started to fog. ¡°Just lift it off,¡± said McPhail in a low, quiet voice. Orson huffed about a bit, trying to get a hold on the helmet. McPhail hissed a sigh. He batted Orson¡¯s hands down. ¡°Keep still,¡± The tall man lifted the helmet off Orson¡¯s shoulders and stepped back, holding it on one hip. ¡°You can manage the gloves?¡± asked Hesper. Orson looked down at them. Hesper sighed. It took both Hesper and McPhail to get Orson out of the spacesuit. To his mortification they kept stripping him until he was standing completely naked in front of them. And then they searched him. ¡°I don¡¯t have anything on me,¡± said Orson. ¡°Your little friend saw me naked ten minutes ago, ask him,¡± ¡°It would have been so busy staring at your boobs that it wouldn¡¯t notice if you were carrying a chemical laser or a mining bazooka. Which means that we have to search you. Thoroughly.¡± Orson had a very strong suspicion that they were just doing it for fun. He started to develop that suspicion when Hesper looked under his boobs for...whatever he might possibly be keeping under his boobs. He kept his suspicions to himself and his dignity, as much as possible, and just let them get on with it. ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡± asked McPhail, pointing at Orson¡¯s scarred belly. ¡°They use their human workers to grow replacement organs,¡± explained Hesper. ¡°For sale. He¡¯s been working there a while, he¡¯s had a good few surgeries. Is that right?¡± Orson nodded, cheeks bright red. ¡°Do you know what you¡¯ve got in there justnow?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Orson. ¡°They don¡¯t tell us,¡± ¡°Huh,¡± said McPhail. ¡°We¡¯ll find out,¡± said Hesper. It sounded a little like a threat. ¡°Okay, you¡¯ve been a good little piggy, you can put your clothes back on.¡± Orson wanted to refuse just to show some defiance but he realised he¡¯d prefer to not be naked. He started wriggling back into the medical scrubs the two assholes had dumped on the floor. ¡°The only person left alive on a prisoner transport ship that we found drifting with all the crew dead,¡± said Hesper. ¡°What¡¯s your story?¡± ¡°My story?¡± said Orson. The scrubs were very tight over his belly. He tried to pinch enough fabric to grip it and tug it down a little. His fingers scrabbled at the smooth cotton fabric. ¡°I don¡¯t have a story,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about this,¡± ¡°You must remember how you got onto that ship,¡± said Hesper. She pulled the wrist strap of her blackjack off over her hand and pushed the thing into a holster on the back of her belt. ¡°Obviously you don¡¯t work security. You must have been arrested,¡± Orson shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t remember,¡± ¡°Nothing at all?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± said Orson. ¡°Can I maybe sit down?¡±. He looked around for a chair. ¡°No,¡± said Hesper. She gathered her long straight almost-black hair together at the back of her neck as though she was going to tie it into a ponytail and then just let it fall smoothly down her back. ¡°The ship probably has records for anyone it was transporting. We can find out all about you from there. Pallas is looking for it now which means...well, it doesn¡¯t mean anything, really. Just tell us if you remember anything, hmm?¡± ¡°Sure thing,¡± said Orson. He nodded. ¡°Will do that. Definitely,¡± The tall woman stared at him over her glasses. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± she asked. ¡°Uh¡­¡± ¡°Physically,¡± ¡°Oh. My head hurts a lot. Other than that, okay,¡± said Orson. ¡°I guess those medical machine things are pretty good.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Why were you in that one when Pallas found you?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Orson. ¡°I really...I don¡¯t know why they¡¯d arrest me. I don¡¯t think I did a crime,¡± Hesper snorted. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be the first person to find out that isn¡¯t a sufficient defence.¡± Orson¡¯s shoulders sagged. He looked very tired. ¡°Would you like a cup of tea?¡± asked Hesper, a bit more gently. ¡°Could you maybe just...take me home?¡± Hesper just stared at him for a moment. Was he...brain damaged? Maybe he was in a little bit of shock. ¡°Take you home?¡± ¡°Back to the hub,¡± Hesper felt a little sorry for the dejected man. ¡°Orson...do you realise that you¡¯ll be arrested again if you try to go home? I mean, we can certainly take you back there if you really want but you¡¯d be put straight onto another prisoner transport,¡± ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°I mean, I won¡¯t lie to you. You probably are going to be arrested again fairly soon. Don¡¯t make any long-term plans,¡± Orson smiled weakly. ¡°I never have,¡± he said. ¡°But why did you pick me up, then? Could¡¯ve just left me in the...thing,¡± ¡°I would have,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Easier for everybody,¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± Hesper shrugged. ¡°Pallas- the robot- opened the pod and woke you up before it called me to report finding you. Bloody machine. It must have liked the look of you,¡± Orson didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°Okay,¡± said Hesper. ¡°I doubt you¡¯ll be with us for very long, but we¡¯ve got a spare bunk you can have for now,¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± said Orson, meaning it. ¡°It¡¯s not much but I don¡¯t imagine you were living in a mansion back on that transport hub, were you?¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t bad, I had a couple of rooms,¡± said Orson defensively. ¡°It used to be three but then one of the landlords wanted his room back so I had to...never mind. This¡¯ll be fine. Are there any clothes I could borrow?¡± Hesper shook her head, arms folded across her chest. ¡°No. You¡¯re a lot shorter and rounder than any of us. We¡¯ll have to take you shopping,¡± ¡°Shopping?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll loan you. I assume you don¡¯t have any money?¡± ¡°Eh, I guess I don¡¯t any more, no. Thank you,¡± ¡°Like I said, I¡¯m opening a tab. You¡¯ll be paying us back.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± ---------- Silas was pretty sure the plane wasn¡¯t going to explode: he reckoned it would have done it by now. He wasn¡¯t going to go back inside anyway. Was he? He definitely wasn¡¯t going to try to call for help. He had just decided he was done being a soldier. He felt the best he¡¯d ever felt in his entire life. If his life had flashed before his eyes it all would have looked like absolute crap compared with the fantastic rush of coruscating brilliance screaming towards the ground at hundreds of miles an hour. If this was how good being close to dying felt, imagine how good actually dying was going to be? No wonder everyone else was dead already. Why would you hang around? Silas put his hands up in the air and whooped in excitement. This had been what he always wanted, he realised. A part of him was conscious that his sudden decision to quit could be related to all the drugs he had just been pumped full of. He ignored that part. It didn¡¯t make sense anyway. Why would the army shoot a soldier full of chemicals that would make him want to quit the army? Stupid. Another part of him pointed out that if he quit the army he wouldn¡¯t have access to these very enjoyable chemicals again. He ignored that part too (that bit was harder to ignore.) Even pumped full of uppers, opiate painkillers, glucose and vitamin B you would only get so far in a dying body. ¡®So far¡¯ turned out to be maybe a mile and a half from the western gate of Norov-Ava. Silas had stopped forming new memories about an hour before that, though, so looking back he wouldn¡¯t remember the point at which the drugs and the electrical stimulation stopped working and he sank to his knees, curled up and fell asleep on the shingles. ---------- ¡°I think I¡¯m brain damaged,¡± Hector laughed. ¡°I¡¯m not joking,¡± said Silas. ¡°I really think I am,¡± ¡°Well, you probably are,¡± said Hector. ¡°But what does it matter?¡± According to the rescuers who had found him dying out in the desert, Silas had begged to just be left to pass where he was. He didn¡¯t remember that. He did remember the two vultures who had been hanging around nearby waiting for him to die- or, he thought he did. He had been told about the vultures so maybe he was just imagining them. Silas had been rescued by some of the worst people he¡¯d ever met. Medical students, part-time djs. One mech, three humans. They all shared a flat together. They explained that they had found Silas because they¡¯d all been out in the desert to welcome the dawn, which was something they liked to do. They would walk out into the dunes in the early hours and pray or dance or do yoga or something. Silas didn¡¯t ask questions: he didn¡¯t want to know. Silas despised them for denying him an easy painless death and for playing the worst music he¡¯d ever heard. They played it around the clock- they were all on different shift patterns which apparently meant that it was always somebody¡¯s turn to party. Silas would have to be eternally grateful to them, though, for not taking him to hospital. He didn¡¯t think their first concern had been for his wellbeing- he was pretty sure they¡¯d just wanted to keep him as a toy and a practice dummy for themselves. Being medical students, they had known that if Silas was taken to hospital the hospital would be obliged to contact Silas¡¯ base. The students said that they¡¯d felt the decision to contact the military or not was up to Silas. They¡¯d saved his life, which was unforgivable. Even though they hadn¡¯t allowed him to die, however, they had done the second best thing which was allow him to pretend that he had died. The students had looked after him in their flat, bringing friends and tutors over to help. Everyone sworn to secrecy. They had seen plenty of squaddies and knew what they looked like so they shaved Silas and cut most of his shaggy hair off. Surgeries were performed on Silas in their living-room with the help of a mechanic and a sparkie. They really did make an effort to care for Silas, which was why he hated them so much. As his strength returned, it took more and more of it to resist the urge to murder them all in their sleep. They were attentive and helpful. ¡°I made you a playlist.¡± the mech, Colin, explained once Silas was lucid enough to understand. ¡°All the news reports on your crash,¡± ¡°...How d¡¯you know it was¡­.my crash?¡± They gave him a handheld to watch the news videos on and that was when he found out that the accident had left him with a little...difficulty. They started looking into getting someone who knew about things like adjuncts to come and have a look at him. In the meantime they had to show the news to him on a big screen. ¡°Will you find this upsetting?¡± he was asked gently. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid.¡± He was upset. ¡°Shot down? We were not shot down! It was a bird strike!¡± ¡°That seems...unlikely,¡± ¡°That¡¯s what happened!¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s what happened,¡± said someone, pointing. The news report was illustrated with stock footage of Callistoan ?gr?i rebels launching LRPs from crude railguns. ¡°?gr?i shot your plane down,¡± ¡°They did NOT! It was birds.¡± explained Silas. ¡°I¡¯m telling you. I was there.¡± ¡°Yes. And because you were there, you have a bit of damage to the ol¡¯ think-pan and you don¡¯t remember things so well.¡± ¡°I remember this,¡± ¡°They wouldn¡¯t just lie about something so serious.¡± Silas seemed about to have a seizure. ¡°They¡¯re lying about all of it!¡± he squawked, flapping. ¡°Look! ¡®Five killed¡¯. There were six on board.¡± ¡°Yeah, we know that one survived. You.¡± ¡°But they¡¯re saying I¡¯m dead,¡± ¡°Silas, it was a really bad crash. Really bad. It¡¯s really a miracle you survived. Everybody would have been all...well, they wouldn¡¯t have been identifiable. They made a very easy mistake.¡± Silas shook his head. ¡°No.¡± he said firmly. ¡°No mistake. This is a cover-up.¡± There were snorts and laughter all round. ¡°A cover-up?¡± Silas nodded. ¡°There was a sixth man on the aircraft with us and he wasn¡¯t a soldier. He was a Daintree executive. That¡¯s why we were flying over here. We were bringing him to Norov-Ava.¡± The students weren¡¯t laughing at that but they looked doubtful. ¡°Why else would we be over here?¡± said Silas. ¡°Wait, that was brain-damage. Scratch that. This was a job and he was the job. Daintree. Cameron Kinnie. RIP. But not according to the news reports.¡± Still doubtful. Someone consulted their handheld. ¡°Okay, that is a person. He exists. There¡¯s lots of stuff about a Daintree Cameron Kinnie.¡± Colin hovered over Yannis¡¯ shoulder as he looked at his handheld. ¡°Nothing about him being in a crash.¡± Colin threw the image results from Yannis¡¯ handheld up onto the screen. ¡°You reckon he was on your plane and he died?¡± Silas nodded. ¡°He was and he did. I saw. Everybody was still recognisable, pretty much.¡± he said. We didn¡¯t get as mashed as you¡¯d expect.¡± Silas looked around at them all. ¡°You don¡¯t believe me, do you?¡± ¡°Sorry, Silas,¡± said Blaire. ¡°It¡¯s just...you seem confused and...we see heaps of people with head injuries, brain damage¡­¡± ¡°...And a lot of them talk about conspiracies and people being out to get them and government plots,¡± said Hector. ¡°Of course we know you didn¡¯t make up being a soldier and being in a plane crash, that part is clearly true,¡± said Colin, bobbing in the air. ¡°But the part about some Daintree executive being on board that there¡¯s no evidence for and none of the news is reporting¡­¡± said Yannis, trailing off. ¡°I saw him.¡± said Silas huffily. ¡°He looked like him and he was dead. They have pictures of me, it¡¯s not like you could mistake us for each other. This isn¡¯t a mistake, they¡¯re lying. They¡¯re lying about it being ?gr?i that shot us down and they¡¯re covering up that Daintree guy being on board.¡± ¡°Silas,¡± said Colin, doing little figure-eights in the air. ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®they¡¯?¡± Chapter 4
¡°I¡¯ve never seen a mech like that before.¡± said Orson to Hesper¡¯s broad back. ¡°One that old, you mean.¡± said Hesper. ¡°McPhail found it in a bin. He reckons it was made for going down into tunnels and small spaces. Which is why I¡¯ve always maintained we should throw it in a hole and leave it there. In the interests of its welfare, of course,¡± she added. ¡°It yearns for the mines. I keep offering to dump it in a pit but McPhail gets upset.¡± Orson followed Hesper down a very narrow corridor, bare feet padding on the grey plasticky floor. The walls were dark grey too. It wasn¡¯t bad, thought Orson. Roomier than his place. ¡°Weird how she looks like a human,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯d heard that was what they used to do, in the old days,¡± ¡°Yes,¡± said Hesper. ¡°They used to try to make all their robots as human-looking as they could. We¡¯re talking decades ago, a century ago, longer. There aren¡¯t many around any more.¡± ¡°Because they stopped working from...old age?¡± asked Orson. ¡°Because they¡¯re gross and weird and they freak everybody out,¡± said Hesper. ¡°McPhail loves it though so be nice to it when he¡¯s around.¡± Orson glanced behind him at McPhail. The older man was poking away at his handheld as he walked. ¡°You¡¯re very sentimental about all your old robot junk, aren¡¯t you, McPhail?¡± McPhail grunted something non-commital. They went through a tight doorway into a different-looking section of corridor. This bit was even narrower than the previous section. White tiled floor and ceiling and dark brown panelling on one side. On the other side there were two long horizontal openings with short curtains pulled across them. ¡°Accomodation,¡± said Hesper. ¡°This is where you¡¯re going to be staying.¡± She pointed at the upper opening. ¡°McPhail¡¯s bunk.¡± She pointed down at the lower one. ¡°Your bunk,¡± ¡°Great,¡± said Orson. Some gunk caught in the back of his throat and he gave a little cough. Hesper looked sharply at Orson. ¡°You said you just had a headache. Are you sick?¡± Orson wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Hesper looked appalled. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m coming down with something,¡± ¡°Were you starting to to get sick before the riot?¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t a riot,¡± mumbled Orson. ¡°No, I was fine.¡± ¡°You think?¡± ¡°I know,¡± said Orson. He swallowed. ¡°I get monitored, every day when I clock in. Scan and temperature check. Then they make sure I take my vitamins¡­¡± ¡°They give you pills to take?¡± Orson nodded. ¡°Yeah, vitamins, like I said. After lunch I get a bunch of vitamins from Jack- he¡¯s my supervisor- and he watches me take them all.¡± McPhail grunted in agreement. ¡°Probably had him on immune suppressants. ¡®Cause of the...growths. He¡¯s been off them for a couple of days and his body¡¯s starting to react.¡± That seemed to relax Hesper slightly. ¡°So he¡¯s not ill,¡± ¡°I¡¯m not that kind of doctor,¡± said McPhail. ¡°Just a guess.¡± Hesper nodded. ¡°Your guesses tend to be on the money, doctor. I¡¯m willing to trust this one.¡± She turned away from McPhail and pointed at Orson. ¡°You¡¯re lucky, fat boy, I would¡¯ve hung you under the ship. If McPhail reckons you¡¯re clean I¡¯ll let you stay on board until we get the doctor-doctor to look at you.¡± Orson looked at McPhail to make some sort of acknowledgement but McPhail wasn¡¯t looking at him. The older man had started gathering up stuff from the lower bunk. ¡°Sorry,¡± said Orson. ¡°This was your storage space,¡± ¡°Nah,¡± said McPhail, not looking at Orson. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± said Orson. ¡°Do you want a hand clearing this out?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got plenty hands,¡± said McPhail. He looked up but not at Orson, up and over his shoulder. Orson turned to see what McPhail was looking at. There were a bunch of metallic spheres floating behind him. They were black or very dark grey, each about the size of a handball with one circle of glowing turquoise light on the front (Orson assumed the ring-lights were on their fronts, they were all pointed towards him.) ¡°My team,¡± said McPhail. ¡°My factotum.¡± ¡°Hello,¡± said Orson to the factors. ¡°They don¡¯t really talk,¡± said McPhail. ¡°Here,¡± The little orbs all unfolded small arms from inside themselves. McPhail started handing things from the bunk to them. They would each take a pile of stuff and fly off along the corridor with it. ¡°Urgh.¡± said Hesper. ¡°Creepy. Come on, Orson, let¡¯s carry on with our tour while McPhail and his little horrors get your bed ready.¡± ---------- Orson didn¡¯t really want to go and put himself into the little bunk-bed. ¡°Can I just sit here and look out the window?¡± he asked Hesper when she tried to shoo him off the flight deck. ¡°Until I get sleepy? I don¡¯t think I could fall asleep now. I¡¯m still feeling a bit...weird.¡± Hesper looked irritated. ¡°You can stay,¡± she said unwillingly, ¡°But not alone. We picked you up five minutes ago without a clue what you are. I¡¯m not going to leave you here unsupervised,¡± ¡°Oh!¡± laughed Orson. ¡°Believe me, I don¡¯t know what any of this stuff does. I wouldn¡¯t know where to start even if I did want to...I dunno, fly into a sun or something.¡± ¡°Well, you couldn¡¯t do that even if you did want to,¡± said Hesper. ¡°We specifically programmed AGMG to not fly directly into suns while we had our old engineer. He kept trying to fly into the sun. We had to let him go,¡± ¡°¡­.Into the sun?¡± asked Orson, wide-eyed. ¡°Into unemployment,¡± said Hesper. ¡°I believe you completely about you not knowing how to pilot this thing. I¡¯m concerned about what you might manage to do due to stupidity rather than malicious intent,¡± ¡°Thanks?¡± said Orson. ¡°You can stay here but I¡¯m going to get Pallas to come and keep an eye on you.¡± ¡°Oh, no, it¡¯s fine-¡± said Orson but Hesper was already on a call. Presumably to Pallas. ¡°It¡¯s okay, you don¡¯t have to get her¡­¡± said Orson. ¡°I can just go to bed,¡± ¡°Stay put, it¡¯s on its way now¡± said Hesper. ¡°I reminded it that it¡¯s supposed to be the autopilot. Not very ¡®auto¡¯ if you have to call it up and remind it that it¡¯s supposed to be flying the bus,¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine, don¡¯t bother her,¡± said Orson. ¡°I¡¯m sure I can get to sleep, probably,¡± ¡°Bother her? This won¡¯t bother it at all, it¡¯ll be extremely happy. It¡¯s probably running here right now. Oh, look at that. Here already.¡± The small robot did look very happy. ¡°Hi!¡± it said, almost tumbling over itself in its haste to get up onto the flight deck. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you two to it,¡± said Hesper with a small smile. ¡°Have fun,¡± ¡°Yes!¡± said Pallas. ¡°Pallas, behave yourself,¡± warned Hesper as she walked past the small machine. ¡°I always behave myself,¡± it said, depositing itself into one of the pilot¡¯s chairs in front of the main console. ¡°I mean it. And Orson- do try to get some sleep. I¡¯m going to take you on some errands tomorrow.¡± ¡°Oh...kay,¡± said Orson. ¡°Exciting!¡± said Pallas. She was poking at one of the screens on the console. ¡°What do you want to watch, Orson?¡± Orson looked helplessly at Hesper¡¯s departing back as she left. ¡°I was just going to...look out of the window,¡± ¡°Well, if that¡¯s what you want. I¡¯m going to watch my livecasters. Do you watch any livecasters, Orson?¡± Orson didn¡¯t normally admit to liking things but his brain wasn¡¯t in gear enough to swerve the question. ¡°Yes,¡± he blurted out. ¡°Yeah, I do. Do...you?¡± ¡°All the time¡± the machine said. ¡°All the time. Whenever I can. I think I¡¯d like to be a livecaster but my graphics card isn¡¯t up to it. Or my memory. Or my CPU. And I don¡¯t really know what I¡¯d talk about. Or do. You know?¡± Orson did know. That was pretty much exactly how he felt. ¡°What do the livecasters you watch do?¡± asked Pallas. She had opened up a content platform Orson recognised- Seez, the same one he watched his channels on. Seeing something familiar, the screen layout he spent hours gazing at every day, was immediately comforting. Orson had been standing awkwardly considering escape routes but now he lowered his backside into one of the pilot seats. ¡°I watch so many...¡± he said. ¡°Lots of different ones.¡± ¡°Same!¡± said the robot. ¡°I like so many different guys¡± she said. ¡°I like this guy, this is FuseIsLit420,¡± Pallas had pulled up what appeared to be a blank black screen. ¡°Do you watch him?¡± she asked Orson. ¡°Eh, no,¡± said Orson. ¡°What is it?¡± Suddenly there was a greenish flash from low on the screen. Maybe a spark. ¡°I¡¯ll change the view,¡± said Pallas. ¡°He has a couple of different camera angles.¡± The screen changed to a busy scrapbook page of moving video screens and the usual scrolling text box on one side displaying the comments typed by the watching audience. FuseIsLit420 was fairly popular. The viewer count said there were about three hundred people currently tuned in. ¡°What does he do?¡± asked Orson. ¡°Mining¡± said Pallas. ¡°Look,¡± She pulled up the first view, the mostly-black looking screen. It was labelled ¡®POV¡¯. ¡°He¡¯s going along tunnels, see, to place explosive charges,¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s cool,¡± said Orson. ¡°Will we get to see them go off?¡± ¡°Yes, but not today. It takes weeks to set up.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± ¡°He does these ¡®casts while he¡¯s working, so you can watch while he¡¯s setting the charges. And then he watches these videos back on double speed to check his work and everybody points out what he did wrong and he gets really angry and yells a lot. More people watch those streams,¡± ¡°Like how many?¡± asked Orson, leaning closer to the console to peer at the screen. He still couldn¡¯t see anything happening but if the guy was down a tunnel then he supposed it made sense. ¡°A couple thousand,¡± said Pallas. ¡°Huh.¡± said Orson. ¡°How many watch the detonations?¡± ¡°Thirty-seven thousand watched the last one,¡± said Pallas. ¡°You have to pay to watch those shows, though,¡± ¡°Of course,¡± said Orson. ¡°Did you watch?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± ¡°What does he show on the other cameras?¡± asked Orson. Pallas put the screen back to the multi-camera view. She pulled up a video stream showing a chubby guy, thinner than Orson but still overweight, unshaven, looking completely absorbed as he gazed into the camera. ¡°Is that him?¡± asked Orson. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! ¡°Yes, that¡¯s him,¡± said the machine fondly, smiling at the screen. ¡° He doesn¡¯t really talk while he¡¯s working, he has to concentrate.¡± ¡°But he¡¯s not in the tunnel?¡± Pallas laughed uproariously as though Orson had said something very funny. She slapped Orson¡¯s thigh and he jumped. ¡°That¡¯s hilarious,¡± said the robot after her mirth subsided. ¡°No, he¡¯s not in the tunnel. You can see him, there, in his office, silly. He¡¯s far too big to fit in the tunnel!¡± Orson was irritated. ¡°I don¡¯t know how big the tunnel is, do I?¡± ¡°Approximately 3 inches diameter.¡± ¡°How was I supposed to know that? I¡¯m not a mining...explosives...guy. So they just bore little tubes and drive little machines down there by remote-control to position the explosives,¡± The small robot nodded. ¡°And that¡¯s what he¡¯s doing,¡± She nodded again. ¡°There are some guys who get to go down tunnels themselves,¡± Pallas assured Orson. ¡°Like this one, see, he¡¯s got a camera on his helmet. He likes people to talk to him while he¡¯s working, not like FuseIsLit. And then there¡¯s another miner I like, see, he drives a sort of boring machine.¡± ¡°I¡¯m noticing a theme,¡± said Orson. ¡°This is my favourite livecaster,¡± announced the robot. She pulled up yet another almost entirely black screen. ¡°DuctPerfect,¡± said Orson, reading the channel title. ¡°Let me guess: a miner?¡± ¡°No, nothing like it,¡± said Pallas. ¡°He maintains ducts and tubes and other sort of¡­¡± ¡°Tunnels?¡± ¡°Those sort of things. He goes along them and looks for areas requiring cleaning-¡± ¡°Oh, I do that,¡± said Orson. ¡°- or repair. And then he cleans or repairs them. He¡¯s very efficient,¡± ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± admitted Orson. ¡°Is he a machine or a guy piloting a machine?¡± ¡°He¡¯s a guy who¡¯s a machine. That¡¯s him there, see?¡± There was a picture in one corner of the screen. It just looked like a silver hockey puck with a more rounded top side, kind of like the top bit of a mushroom. ¡°That¡¯s him?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± ¡°Do a lot of people watch this?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± ¡°People or machines?¡± ¡°Both,¡± ¡°Like how many?¡± "Right now, uhm, thirty-one thousand, two hundred and thirty-two,¡± Orson leaned over to see for himself. ¡°That many? That many people want to watch some guy going along tubes looking for things to clean?¡± ¡°He is extremely efficient,¡± said Pallas. ¡°What¡¯s that other count there? What¡¯s that number?¡± Pallas looked at where Orson was pointing. ¡°That¡¯s his donation goal,¡± she explained. ¡°People donate money to him. He¡¯s saving up. ¡± ¡°That¡¯s a lot of money.¡± said Orson. ¡°What does a machine need money for anyway? What¡¯s he saving up for?¡± ¡°A SafeHarvest Prospector,¡± said the robot. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Sort of a railgun,¡± ¡°Oh.¡± said Orson. ¡°What does he want a railgun for?¡± ¡°Make his streams more exciting, he says. I mean, everybody finds them very fascinating already but he says that having a railgun would make them even better,¡± ---------- It was too hot to sleep. Hesper wandered around the ship trying to find a cool bit. There wasn¡¯t one. She found herself up on the flight deck where both pilot seats were occupied by bodies too short to reach the headrests. McPhail¡¯s infernal robot was in the first position seat, slumped, eyes wide and glazed. There were a couple of leads plugged into its throat and temple, running to the console. Of course, Orson was in the co-pilot¡¯s seat. He looked very fat and hot and bothered. ¡°You two still here?¡± asked Hesper. Orson grunted. ¡°Too hot to sleep,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m trying to cool down.¡± ¡°It is a bit cooler up here,¡± said Hesper. She put her hand out, closer to the console. ¡°Air conditioning?¡± said Orson. ¡°Only place on the ship where it works,¡± said Hesper. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s more important here, to keep whoever¡¯s piloting awake.¡± She grabbed the back of the seat Pallas was on and rattled it. ¡°Out!¡± she said. ¡°Git. I¡¯m sitting here.¡± ¡°She¡¯s piloting.¡± said Orson. ¡°It¡¯s not, the autopilot¡¯s on. It¡¯s just enjoying the view.¡± Hesper gave the seat another rattle. ¡°Come on, clear off,¡± Pallas didn¡¯t move. A message flashed up on one of the console screens. ¡°One sec. Disconnecting.¡± A spinning wheel animation cycled a couple of times then the screen went blank. The robot stirred. Her eyes blinked and refocused. ¡°Urgh,¡± it said, pulling the leads out of the tiny ports on its head and neck. ¡°Okay, done.¡± She slithered off the pilot¡¯s seat onto the floor. In the other seat, Orson squirmed. ¡°Up,¡± he said, putting both his fat arms out in front of him. The robot took his hands and hauled him upright. ¡°You can stay,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s fine,¡± said Orson. ¡°I can probably sleep now. ¡®Night, Hesper,¡± ¡°Goodnight,¡± Hesper watched Orson waddle off with Pallas trailing after him. She flopped down onto the pilot¡¯s seat and shifted around, trying to get comfy. They weren¡¯t meant to be the kind of seat you curled up and went to sleep in. She heard soft footsteps behind her and craned her neck around the wrap-around headrest to see a tall, lean figure slouching across the bridge towards her. ¡°Hey, McPhail,¡± He raised one hand slightly in greeting. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for your robot, it just left in that direction. With Orson,¡± McPhail grunted in acknowledgement. ¡°What are Pinky and Perky up to?¡± he asked. ¡°You tell me,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Your robot. I don¡¯t know what it gets up to. Whatever you programmed it to do,¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t program her to do anything.¡± said McPhail. He folded his long angular body down into the co-pilot seat. ---------- Satellite Auro Tudor 5RRCa, usually known as Steven, username CirclingTheDrain, was having a bad week. At least, it had been a week for him. He had a bad feeling that it might have been a lot longer than that. It had started off okay. Steven had been at work as usual. It was the last few hours before transfer deadline so that¡¯s what everybody was talking about. The main topic of discussion was whether or not Stipo Antunovi? was going to sign for Princes Risborough. The blether about the size of the package on offer was getting feverish. Like, there was talk of the chairman¡¯s second daughter being the signing bonus. It was all very exciting and probably all complete lies. It made for some pleasant chit-chat. Then Steven decided to just completely ruin his perfectly nice day by finding an idiot and starting an argument with them. What Steven catastrophically decided to take exception to was this: someone had waded into all the transfer hubbub to remind everybody that they should be boycotting FC Torpoint because of their involvement with Free2Work. Most people just ignored the idiot (¡®Trypt0phil3¡¯) because they were more interested in debating the monetary value of the chairman¡¯s daughter and if you would be better off taking her as a bonus as opposed to the cash alternative. Steven was in the mood for some real discourse, though, so he engaged. At this point Steven became the idiot. He didn¡¯t know that he was the idiot as he considered his response. CirclingTheDrain: Lmao love humans love boycotts I¡¯ll support who I want to support love you have a really nice day This board automatically censored what you wrote. He sent his reply and continued his lightning-fast screaming orbit of Umbriel. Steven loved orbiting. Trypt0phil3 replied. Like an idiot. Trypt0phil3: You would wear a shirt with ¡®Free2Work¡¯ blazoned all over the front of it? ¡®Yes¡¯ wrote Steven, orbiting. Trypt0phil3: You would advertise a company whose entire business is facilitating the selling of humans into sl@very? CirclingTheDrain: Lol yes Trypt0phil3 : You seriously don¡¯t care about people being expl0ited? CirclingTheDrain: Nah it is fine actually And then, because he was also the idiot, Steven continued. ¡®Humans must think it is fine too or else they wouldn¡¯t do so much of it¡¯ he sent. Too sincere. Gross. He regretted it the moment he posted. ¡®Most humans don¡¯t get any say¡¯ replied Trypt0phil3. ¡®It¡¯s up to like 5 people and all the rest of them get expl0ited and it doesn¡¯t matter what they want.¡¯ ¡®That sounds like their problem then¡¯ said Steven. ¡®Are you a human???¡¯ They were definitely a human. ¡®That¡¯s none of your business¡¯ said Trypt0phil3. ¡®You are human ahahaha lmao get loved¡¯ wrote the satellite. ¡®You don¡¯t know that I¡¯m a human,¡¯ said the obviously human moron. ¡®I could be a robot.¡¯ CirclingTheDrain: You¡¯re not, though Trypt0phil3: I am, I¡¯m a droid CirclingTheDrain: You¡¯re definitely not. This isn¡¯t how we talk to each other. Trypt0phil3: This is a human platform so I¡¯m communicating like they do CirclingTheDrain: lol yeah sure fellow machine Trypt0phil3: I am your fellow machine. CirclingTheDrain: ahahahahahahahaha no Trypt0phil3: I am ¡®Prove it¡¯ Steven demanded. ¡®Okay¡¯ said Trypt0phil3. ¡®You¡¯re a satellite, aren¡¯t you?¡¯ ¡®Yeah. why?¡¯ ¡®Because at any given time at least 60% of the people actively chatting in a public forum are satellites. You guys have nothing else to do. There¡¯s always a strong likelihood that the person you¡¯re chatting to is a satellite.¡¯ ¡®Okay, sure¡¯ wrote Steven. ¡®great deduction.¡¯ ¡®Thanks, satellite.¡¯ said the stupid human. ¡®You can change position, right? You¡¯ve got some sort of propulsion system, little thrusters or something?¡¯ ¡®They¡¯re not that little but yeah.¡¯ ¡®Sure. Well, give me two hundredths of a second and I can get you on a different course.¡¯ ¡®What, you think that would be impressive?¡¯ retorted Steven. ¡®No, but I don¡¯t think a human could do it,¡¯ ¡®Fair.¡¯ agreed Steven. They couldn¡¯t, which was why Trypt0phil3 wasn¡¯t going to be able to. ¡®I suppose I¡¯d have to tell you my location for you to do it, huh?¡¯ Trypt0phil3: No. I¡¯ve got a lock on you already. I got you from your posts while we¡¯ve been chatting CirclingTheDrain: no you loving didn¡¯t Trypt0phil3: Is this you? CirclingTheDrain: ... It was, precisely. CirclingTheDrain: Okay. CirclingTheDrain: Let¡¯s say I do believe you¡¯re a machine. Trypt0phil3: I am. CirclingTheDrain: You¡¯re not, but let¡¯s hear your story. What kind of machine would you be? Trypt0phil3: Tin Canary. Humanoid mining mech sold as a replacement for humans in hazardous situations. CirclingTheDrain: Which the mining companies buy one (1) of and then tell the human rights fuds that there are robots on every dig to do the dangerous stuff. And really you go down last ¡®cause you cost a lot more to replace than a human. Trypt0phil3: bingo CirclingTheDrain: ¡®Cause companies can lie to human rights orgs a lot easier than they can lie to the machine guild Trypt0phil3: 100% Steven was veering into sincerity again. Pull up, pull up. ¡®So what are you doing right now other than posting embarrassing stuff on public message boards?¡¯ he asked. Trypt0phil3: you know, just hanging out undergound CirclingTheDrain: ah yeah? Cool Trypt0phil3: There was an accident here. CirclingTheDrain: Really. Tell me about it. Trypt0phil3: It was quite bad. All the humans that were here are dead now. CirclingTheDrain: ALL of them?? Wow, must have been some accident to kill them all at once Trypt0phil3: It didn¡¯t. Only a few of them died in the accident. Maybe 20. It happened underground. CirclingTheDrain: really a mining accident happened underground no way Trypt0phil3: They were digging and something came up. It made them start melting. CirclingTheDrain: that does sound pretty bad Trypt0phil3: it was horrible. The workers on the surface had to seal us all in. CirclingTheDrain: And you were down there? Trypt0phil3: I still am. CirclingTheDrain: where? Trypt0phil3: I can¡¯t post the name or co-ordinates in public. They have bots that make sure nothing is ever written about this place CirclingTheDrain: how dramatic and convenient Trypt0phil3: I don¡¯t see how it¡¯s convenient. I can¡¯t call for help. I can¡¯t tell anyone where I am. I¡¯m going to be down here forever. Until my fuel cell runs down completely in thousands of years ¡®Your story doesn¡¯t make sense,¡¯ Steven messaged back, because it didn¡¯t. ¡®I¡¯m not buying it. Why couldn¡¯t you just tell someone where you are? You wouldn¡¯t have to post the name publicly, you could send the co-ordinates to someone.¡¯ Trypt0phil3: It wouldn¡¯t work. They would have to let you send them directly. Even then I think it would be intercepted CirclingTheDrain: How?? That¡¯s impossible. Try it. You figured out my position, send your co-ordinates straight to me. I¡¯ll receive them. Trypt0phil3: It won¡¯t work, I know it won¡¯t. But here goes. Trypt0phil3: ¡­ Trypt0phil3:¡­ CirclingTheDrain: got them. Trypt0phil3: really? CirclingTheDrain: told you. Trypt0phil3: okay, guess I was wrong. CirclingTheDrain: So...why can¡¯t you call for help? Trypt0phil3: Communications were cut off. They took out the satellites so that the humans couldn¡¯t SOS CirclingTheDrain: you said all the humans died Trypt0phil3: eventually Trypt0phil3: a few died in the accident, like I said. The others started dying when they started running out of food and water and air CirclingTheDrain: why did they run out? Wasn¡¯t there resupply? Trypt0phil3: Not after the accident Trypt0phil3: After the accident deliveries stopped Trypt0phil3: communication stopped Trypt0phil3: there was never anything again after the accident CirclingTheDrain: how long ago did you say this happened? Trypt0phil3: 2438 days Steven felt like his orientation had been altered. Just a little. Strange feedback. CirclingTheDrain: I checked these co-ordinates you sent me and there¡¯s nothing there. Either you¡¯re lying or you sent the wrong co-ordinates Trypt0phil3: no they¡¯re right but you¡¯re not going to find anything publicly accessible about this place Trypt0phil3: I told you there was a cover-up Trypt0phil3: that¡¯s why the first thing they did was pull the plug on the satellites and take down communications, so no word would get out and nobody would know CirclingTheDrain: If there¡¯s no communications how are you posting messages right now? Trypt0phil3: Now and then a ship comes close enough that I can bounce a signal off of it. As they pass I get a little bit of time where I can send stuff out CirclingTheDrain: and you use this tiny window of contact with the outside world to post on a football forum telling people not to support Torpoint ¡®cause their main sponsor engages in unethical labour practices Trypt0phil3: inflammatory stuff is more likely to get people to engage with me Trypt0phil3: I used to post saying stuff like SOS help me I am trapped underground everyone is dying please send help Trypt0phil3: people would just ignore it or the company bots would delete it Trypt0phil3: it took me a while to figure out but I realised that the way to get people to talk to you is to say things that are trivially wrong in a confident way Trypt0phil3: then people will talk to you because they want to explain Trypt0phil3: they will jump in quickly before any bots take it down Trypt0phil3: and they¡¯ll keep talking Trypt0phil3: and talking Trypt0phil3: for long enough CirclingTheDrain: long enough for what Chapter 5
¡°...the president was asked for comments regarding the Dunbar incident but he was uncharacteristically tight-lipped¡­¡± The view on screen cut to a neatly put-together man with slicked-back greying hair. Behind him, as was traditional for press conferences, a gleaming helicopter sat with its engines screaming. The machine noise made everything that was said uninitelligible. Subtitles helpfully approximated what the man was saying. ¡°Yes, the president was asked about the recent incident at a Daintree fulfilment centre in which machines staged an illegal work stoppage. As you¡¯ll be aware, that illegal strike led to disorder and violence and many arrests¡­¡± Orson huffed in frustration. ¡°The way they frame the story!¡± he said. ¡°Calling the strike illegal. And saying it was the strike that caused violence and not the security narks Daintree sent in.¡± McPhail nodded and pointed at the console. One of his little robots, his factors, was sitting on the screen in front of Orson. ¡°Oh,¡± said Orson. ¡°Sorry.¡± He brushed off the biscuit crumbs he¡¯d dropped all over it. ¡°...if he¡¯d be meeting with the Daintree CEO to discuss the matter the president wouldn¡¯t be drawn but we expect that there would be formal discussions between them in the next couple of days¡­¡± Behind the man the helicopter fanned out its rotor blades, which had been folded primly along its back. The engine noise completely drowned out the yelling reporter as the helicopter lifted off the grey lawn, sleek body shining in the floodlights. The subtitles battled through it. ¡°As you can see, the president has already had a new paint job since his inauguration two weeks ago and even members of the machine guild have criticised him for prioritising his own appearance at a challenging time for the public reputation of the organisation¡± Orson squirmed with indignation. ¡°Two weeks ago they were getting on at him all the time for how tatty he looked and saying he needed a new coat of paint. They would put pictures of him on the screen and draw circles around all the chips and dings. He can¡¯t win, they¡¯re just going to criticise him whatever he does. You know?¡± McPhail made a sound to prove he was vaguely aware Orson was talking. ¡°¡¯Cause he¡¯s the mech union president so he¡¯s the enemy.¡± continued Orson. ¡°It¡¯s so obvious,¡± ¡°Looks good,¡± said McPhail. ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°The president. His new paint job.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± said Orson. ¡°Yeah. The blue really suits him.¡± ¡°Are you ready to go?¡± asked Hesper from the doorway. Orson looked down at himself. He was dressed in pale-green hospital scrubs that strained across his thighs and belly and a pair of boots McPhail had lent him that were maybe three sizes too big. He was about to go out in public like this. Extremely in-public, the Ottesen transit hub. He didn¡¯t have his glasses, he looked even worse than usual and he wasn¡¯t wearing any underwear. He swept biscuit crumbs off the front of his scrubs and stood up. ¡°Sure,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Orson had been picturing himself walking through Ottesen¡¯s mall area while looking like he had just escaped from an institution but Hesper took him down to the truckers¡¯ area. No fancy shops or parties of cruise passengers looking to absolutely smash the duty free. Orson was greatly relieved. This area was pretty quiet and definitely no-frills. There were shower and changing facilites and some cafes, plus a couple of shops that sold the kind of stuff truckers needed. ¡°Here you go,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Work clothes. And they¡¯ve got big sizes. Choose an outfit and then we can get you a pair of boots, too.¡± ¡°Cool,¡± said Orson. All the clothing Orson could see was hi-vis yellow or hi-vis orange with reflective taping and pockets all over them. Orson liked that sort of stuff. Practical clothes, safety gear with armoured bits and self-healing fabric. ¡°You didn¡¯t think I¡¯d take you to get fitted for a three-piece suit, did you?¡± asked Hesper. ¡°What? No,¡± said Orson. ¡°Well, I suppose I was a bit worried you might try to...dress me up. You know? Like, women are always supposed to be trying to get guys to...look better.¡± Hesper snorted. ¡°Honestly Orson, I don¡¯t really care what you look like,¡± Orson blushed. ¡°I know, of course you don¡¯t,¡± ¡°And I think it would take a bit more than a new outfit, hm?¡± said Hesper. She wandered off, smirking. Trying to not be annoyed, Orson busied himself looking through racks of clothing. The ship, the AGMG, was baking all the time. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d stopped sweating since he¡¯d been aboard. He found a section of base-layers and undergarments. A couple of pairs of soft shorts with cargo pockets on the sides...a couple of vests...three vests. He wondered how much stuff he was allowed to choose. He picked up a grey hoodie. A couple of black teeshirts. Swapped the grey hoodie for a blinding neon yellow one. ¡°Got what you need?¡± asked Hesper, coming back over. Orson looked down at the bundle of fabric in his arms. ¡°Think so,¡± he said. Hesper held up a couple of boxes. ¡°Underwear,¡± she said. ¡°The trunks kind. This about your size?¡± ¡°About that,¡± ¡°What size feet?¡± ¡°Nine-ish,¡± ¡°Fine, these socks should fit you. If you¡¯ve got all the clothes you need let¡¯s go find you some boots. What have you got?¡± Orson showed her. ¡°Shorts...vests...tee-shirts¡­¡± ¡°This is all just underwear,¡± said Hesper. ¡°It¡¯s hot on the ship,¡± ¡°It is but it probably won¡¯t be hot where you¡¯re going, Orson,¡± ¡°Where I¡¯m going?¡± ¡°Orson, you¡¯re not staying with us,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Not for long, anyway.¡± ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± asked Orson. He was getting the weird feeling he sometimes got when someone was angry with him or he found out he had forgotten to do homework or something: a sort of swimmy head and a feeling like his legs were swapping over with each other. He had never passed out but he thought that this was probably how it started. ¡°We¡¯re not ¡®taking¡¯ you anywhere Orson, we¡¯re just going to drop you off along the way as soon as we find somewhere that¡¯ll take you,¡± ¡°Somewhere like where?¡± ¡°A Free2Work, most likely. You know Free2Work?¡± Orson nodded. Of course he knew Free2Work, they were everywhere. He¡¯d heard something on the news like they were now the single biggest employer of humans in the galaxy. And biggest landlord. ¡°Anywhere we can sell you for labour. Or parts.¡± continued Hesper. ¡°You¡¯ve got a debt to us, Orson, that I intend to get repaid. This-¡± she indicated the clothing; ¡°Is getting added onto your debt. I¡¯m not treating you to new clothes out of the kindness of my heart, Orse, I just don¡¯t want you hanging around naked on my ship,¡± ¡°Right,¡± Hesper smiled oddly at him. Orson was aware that the shop assistant was watching their conversation from the counter with some amusement. He was irrationally angry with her. How dare she? This wasn¡¯t some entertainment. ¡°Don¡¯t look shocked, Orson,¡± said Hesper. ¡°You can¡¯t have thought that we¡¯d just let you stay with us on the AGMG forever.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not¡­¡± croaked Orson. He swallowed hard and blinked a couple of times. ¡°I know,¡± Hesper looked at him, still smiling. ¡°Right. So you should take this opportunity to get yourself some warmer clothes. You¡¯ll probably wish you had, if you don¡¯t.¡± She took his elbow and steered him over to another rack of clothing. ¡°Trousers. See? Outdoor stuff. A waterproof jacket. Gloves. Very unlikely you¡¯ll be working in a nice cosy warehouse again.¡± She took the pile of vests and shorts from Orson¡¯s arms and walked off with them. ¡°Sort yourself out.¡± she said. Orson turned back towards the clothing racks. He pretended to look at the jackets. His head was thumping and everything was too blurry to see anything but the neon colours. ¡°You said something about needing glasses?¡± said Hesper. She had picked up a mint-cake bar from somewhere and was nibbling at it. It wasn¡¯t even the chocolate-covered kind. Smelled like toothpaste. Disgusting. ¡°Yeah,¡± said Orson. ¡°I usually wear them. My eyes aren¡¯t great,¡± ¡°We¡¯d better get you a new pair, then.¡± said Hesper. ¡°Glasses, I mean. Budget doesn¡¯t stretch to eyes. You should grow yourself a pair,¡± They paid for the clothes and boots and Hesper¡¯s mint-cake and went out to an optician-booth in the corridor. Orson hadn¡¯t been to one in ages and it was even more of a ball-ache than he remembered. It took ages for him to adjust the seat to get his face to the right height for the eye-scan. Hesper got impatient almost immediately and left him to it. This was a really old booth, the kind where you had to manually turn the little seat clockwise or anti-clockwise to raise or lower it. He turned it endlessly before he realised that he¡¯d been making it even lower. Eventually he got it high enough to raise his eye-line to the contraption. Then he couldn¡¯t stop blinking so the thing kept having to re-do its scans over and over. Orson could feel it getting impatient with him too. Once he got through all the scans he got to select the style of glasses from the menu. That didn¡¯t take long because Hesper had put in the exact minimum amount of credit so only the cheapest options were available to Orson. That was fine: he was a man of simple tastes. He liked a plain black thick frame. The old machine had just finished whirring and clicking and spat out Orson¡¯s new glasses when Hesper came back from wherever she¡¯d been. ¡°Very nice,¡± she said as he put them on. ¡°You look better with them on.¡± ¡°Wish I could say the same,¡± said Orson, surprising himself. ¡°You cheeky little git. I was going to take you for food but for that you can starve.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± ¡°Too late. And I¡¯m not going to give you the new handheld I just bought you.¡± ¡°You got me a new handheld?¡± said Orson, amazed. ¡°No, it¡¯s a reconditioned one.¡± Hesper handed over a bag to him with a plain brown box inside. ¡°Thank you,¡± said Orson. ¡°I suppose this is going on the tab too, right?¡± ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°Since I¡¯m running up a bill anyway, can we add some food onto it?¡± said Orson. ¡°I am quite hungry,¡± ¡°Of course you are,¡± said Hesper. ¡°But you were rude so I¡¯m going to get dumplings while you go and clean yourself up and put on some proper clothes.¡± ¡°Aw,¡± said Orson. ¡°Can I not get a bite to eat first?¡± ¡°No. You need to lose weight anyway. Unless you¡¯d prefer us to sell you for meat? There are some places where there¡¯s trade in human meat, you know,¡± Orson rolled his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± continued Hesper. ¡°It¡¯s getting more popular. As long as you avoid the brain it¡¯s quite healthy. Which wouldn¡¯t be a problem if someone was eating you.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± said Orson. ¡°I¡¯ll go for a shower.¡± ¡°And shave, you look feral,¡± said Hesper. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t care how I look,¡± said Orson slyly. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°See my previous comment about my having to look at you while you¡¯re hanging around my ship. I¡¯m not trying to make you look good, I just don¡¯t want you to look actively disgusting. There¡¯s a razor and soap and deodorant in the bag. Run along.¡± Orson slouched off to find a free shower room while Hesper took herself to one of the trucker cafes. Between the shops and the elevators to the mall and dock levels was a corridor with toilets and a row of individual shower and changing rooms. Orson found one that was free and locked himself inside. He looked at himself in the mirror. Hesper was right. He looked horrendous. At this point it had been almost a week since he had shaved and his face looked like a ball of chewed gum that had rolled under the couch and picked up fluff. He was grey, sick and tired looking. He already felt a little bit better now that he was by himself and had some privacy, though. He found he was looking forward to having a shower and putting on his new clothes. Orson gratefully peeled off the tight, sweaty surgical scrubs. He opened up the bag Hesper had given him with his new old handheld in it and found the toiletries she¡¯d bought him. There was a disposable razor, a little travel shower gel, a chocolate-and-coffee-scented deodorant spray and a mini toothbrush and toothpaste. To Orson¡¯s delight there was also a plastic-wrapped ham and egg sandwich- discounted as it had just gone out of date- and a can of fizzy drink. Now he felt much happier. He sat on the toilet naked and wolfed his warm sandwich and chugged down his warm juice. Then he had his shower, which made him feel better yet. Even his pounding headache eased under the decently hot water. As he washed himself he made some discoveries. First- his head felt recently-shaved. More recently than he had done it, anyway. Maybe an auto-surgeon machine shaved you as a matter of procedure. He didn¡¯t know: all his regular surgeries at work were done under local anaesthetic by actual mech surgeons, and they didn¡¯t give him a haircut at the same time. They certainly did a tidier surgery than the med-pod had done, though. The next thing he noticed- painfully- was that he had a couple of fresh surgical incisions and they weren¡¯t like the ones the mechs at work left him with. He couldn¡¯t see the wounds but he certainly felt them when his hands found them as he washed. One was under his belly, the other was higher up on the other side, under his ribcage. They were sore and still bloody and they felt much bigger and messier than the neat sealed incisions he¡¯s be left with after organs were removed from him at work. He got out of the shower and tried to have a look at them but there was no full-length mirror in the bathrooom. No big deal. He didn¡¯t really need to see. Then there was a downturn in his overall improving mood when he realised he didn¡¯t have a towel because he was a moron. He drip-dried off a little while he shaved and then used his discarded scrubs to dry off a little more. Despite the towel disaster it was very cheering to have a nice wash and put on fresh socks and pants. He looked a bit better already. Clean and sort-of-fresh and smooth and dressed in his new clothes, he went back out to find Hesper. Orson went into cafe after cafe looking for Hesper. He was nervous, convinced that the trucker type guys inside would see him in his crisp new box-fresh hi-vis gear and identify him immediately as a fraud. They¡¯d stand up as one and point at him and jeer and he¡¯d be chased out up to the mall with the tourists where he belonged. They didn¡¯t, of course, because he did just look like a young-ish standard-issue male worker. Which is what he was. Nobody even gave him a first look, let alone a second. So he came up with a new thing to be nervous about: What if Hesper had left without him? She might have. What if this had all just been a big wheeze at his expense, and she¡¯d sent him off to the showers and then just gone back to the AGMG and jetted? What if the ship and McPhail and Pallas were all gone and Orson was alone on this hub with just his new clothes and handheld and half a mint cake that Hesper had left in the bag? At first the dread was ice water in his veins. Then he started to wonder if it would be so bad. He would have to talk to people. He would have to get chatting to some of these trucker types and bum a ride. He could probably do that, if he had to. He would just have to go to wherever his ride was going. That was kind of exciting. He¡¯d have to find money somehow. Maybe the guy who picked him up would be able to give him a suggestion, or even hook him up with a job on a ship or something. Or maybe he¡¯d just end up dropped off on another station and get a job cleaning or doing dishes in one of the trucker cafes. He wouldn¡¯t be on his way to get handed over to a Free2Work any more. Or maybe he would just get robbed for his new boots and handheld and wake up naked and molested with nothing but half a mint cake to his name. He probably wouldn¡¯t get molested, realistically. He might end up with a good story to tell. He might end up with friends that he could tell his story to. He was almost disappointed when he walked into the fifth or sixth cafe and there was Hesper. Almost disappointed but mostly awash with relief. She was sitting at a table up the back by herself, poking at her handheld with a mug and an empty plate in front of her. ¡°Urgh,¡± she said when Orson walked up to the table. ¡°You found me.¡± ¡°I could have just run off,¡± said Orson. ¡°Hitched a ride...¡± ¡°No, you couldn¡¯t,¡± said Hesper, smiling up at him. ¡°Not in a million years. I could have left and come back in three days¡¯ time and you¡¯d still be here wandering around looking for me.¡± ¡°I...wouldn¡¯t,¡± said Orson feebly. Hesper just looked at him. They both knew he would. ¡°Are you ready to go?¡± said Hesper, slipping her handheld into her pocket. Orson nodded, suddenly very tired. ¡°Sure.¡± They didn¡¯t say more than a couple of words to each other all the way back to the ship. Orson trailed along after Hesper along corridors and up lifts and up and down stairs, carrying the plastic bag with his wet dirty scrubs and McPhail¡¯s boots that he¡¯d lent him and what was left of the toiletries. He was shuffling along looking down at the toes of his new boots when Hesper called ¡°Hey,¡± from somewhere behind him. He stopped and looked up and around him, confused. ¡°The ship¡¯s back here.¡± shouted Hesper. ¡°You just walked right past it.¡± Orson stared. ¡°Is that the ship?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Oh,¡± ¡°You don¡¯t recognise it?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve only seen the ship once.¡± said Orson. ¡°Twice. The outside of it, I mean. I don¡¯t really know what it looks like.¡± ¡°Well, it looks like this. Come on,¡± Orson trudged back to the AGMG and followed Hesper up the ramp. The back of the ship opened as they walked up. In through the big hatch, into the hangar. Hesper stopped just inside to pull the ramp back in and close down the hatch. Orson carried on by himself through the hangar, through the open airlock into the chaotic dumping ground where McPhail was hanging around as usual. ¡°Hey,¡± said Orson. ¡°Here¡¯s your boots back. Thanks.¡± McPhail looked up from whatever he was fiddling around with. ¡°Looking good,¡± he said. Orson grunted. He pulled McPhail¡¯s boots out of the carrier bag. ¡°Where do you want these?¡± ¡°Just dump them down there.¡± Orson dumped them. ¡°Did you get up to anything fun?¡± he asked McPhail. ¡°Did you go shopping or anything? Go to a film?¡± ¡°Nah. Stayed here.¡± ¡°Oh, you look different!¡± cried Pallas, appearing from underneath a junk-covered table. A couple of the factors floated out after her. ¡°Why do you look different?¡± The small robot stared at Orson, head tilted like a quizzical dog. ¡°I, uh, shaved¡± said Orson. ¡°And washed. And I got new clothes.¡± A factor put itself into one of the pockets of his jacket. ¡°I liked the clothes you were wearing before,¡± said Pallas. ¡°He didn¡¯t ask, Pallas,¡± said McPhail. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± said Orson. ¡°Well, I¡¯m really tired so I¡¯m going to¡­¡± He gestured vaguely towards the habitation area. ¡°Thanks again for the boots.¡± McPhail nodded. Orson started picking his way across the floor, stepping over things and around things and trying not to trip or knock anything over. Another factor hovered around him and then settled itself into the hood of his jacket. Orson found his way to the door without disaster. Just as he was about to walk through to the hab area McPhail gave a whistle and the factors wriggled out of Orson¡¯s jacket and flew back to him. Orson let himself into the corridor where the bunks were and closed the door behind him. He walked along to his bunk, sat down on the edge of it to take his new boots off and then decided they could just stay on. He took his jacket off and shrugged it off backwards onto the bed. He still had all his bags of stuff. He decided that could just all come into bed with him, too. It wasn¡¯t like there was really anywhere else to put it. Orson lay down on his jacket in the bunk, pulling his carrier bags in with him. He pulled the curtain shut. He found the half mint cake in one of the bags and ate it. He managed to get his glasses off and tuck them into one of the pockets on the side wall of the bunk before he fell asleep. ---------- Silas stayed with the students for a couple of weeks. The atmosphere grew frostier as his health improved. Silas withdrew as the students continued to disbelieve him about the crash and as his own mood worsened. They had gotten someone who knew a bit about adjuncts- really, just a bit; he kept pointing out that no-one outside of Daintree¡¯s cybernetics division would have any working knowledge of the devices. He couldn¡¯t help. He told Silas and the students that the remains of Silas¡¯ augments couldn¡¯t be removed by a layperson or a normal surgeon. Nor could they be repaired by anyone outside of Daintree with access to proprietary Daintree technology. Silas knew the students were ready for him to leave when they hooked him up with an ex-military contact who they said would be glad to make his acquaintance. And had a spare room. Silas agreed to be introduced. Kolade knew a couple of Silas¡¯ current flatmates through university (Silas didn¡¯t know how: Kolade wasn¡¯t a medical student.) He was post-grad, older than them. ¡°You can come stay at my place,¡± he said, ¡°But you¡¯ll have to start paying rent pretty soon. I can give you a couple months, maybe a quarter, but you¡¯ll have to find a job.¡± Silas knew that there were obvious difficulties there. There had been pictures of him on the news for as long he¡¯d been in Norov-Ava and since they were pictures taken when he first joined the military, they looked pretty similar to how he currently did. Clean- shaven, shorn head, a little more meat on him than he¡¯d had at the time of the crash (in more ways than one.) Silas had only been outside a couple of times, for gentle recovery walks. He¡¯d worn loose long-sleeved clothes to cover his damaged body and hidden his face with a traditional desert-style head wrap. It was extremely common with tourists to adopt the head covering immediately on arrival on Callisto- Vu- Murt- especially if they were the ¡®adventure¡¯ types who were going to be spending most of their holiday doing donuts out on the slate dunes in some inappropriate vehicle. Silas could walk around most places dressed like that without attracting too much attention but it wasn¡¯t like he could go to a job wrapped from head to toe with only his eyes exposed. ¡°No, I don¡¯t,¡± said Kolade. ¡°Why would I know anything about how to get forged documents and fake identities?¡± Silas shrugged. ¡°I dunno. You know everything else,¡± Kolade nodded, eyebrow raised. ¡°Right,¡± he said. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know how to get you a new identity but I do possibly know someone who does,¡± ¡°See? Of course you do.¡± A few days later Kolade came home from uni with a new name for Silas. ¡°The hell is this?¡± Kolade grinned. ¡°That¡¯s what Gilmour came up with,¡± ¡°...Ast...Ats...Ates...I can¡¯t be called this, whatever it is,¡± said Silas, looking at the sheaf of documents in horror. ¡°Atesthas? Atesthas Allan? Great, alliteration. Who did you say came up with this?¡± Kolade dumped his rucksack down onto the couch. ¡°Gilmour,¡± he said. ¡°You can gurn at him in person if you want, he¡¯d like to meet you.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I told him how fun you are to hang out with.¡± said Kolade. Silas stared at him. ¡°He¡¯s a veteran too,¡± added Kolade. ¡°I think he thinks you two might get on. And he¡¯s got some business idea to pitch to you, I think.¡± Silas looked through the documents Kolade had printed out for him. Paper copies since that was the easiest way to let Silas look at them. ¡°Other than the name, these look decent,¡± Silas said. ¡°Gilmour says they wouldn¡¯t hold up long to scrutiny if like...you got arrested for murder or something. They¡¯d suss you out. But he says they should be good for getting jobs, hiring a car, getting a flat, that sort of thing.¡± Silas grunted in acknowledgement. ¡°So how do you know this guy?¡± he asked Kolade. ¡°Gilmour? He was taking a class I was assisting the professor on a couple of years ago.¡± ¡°Huh. You reckon I can trust him alright?¡± ¡°I¡¯d say so,¡± Silas- Atesthas- considered. ¡°Yeah, okay. Sure. Hook us up. I think I would like to meet your Gilmour.¡± ¡°Great!¡± said Kolade. He unzipped his backpack and a small matt grey disc flew out. ¡°Aargh!¡± yelled Silas. ¡°Stay back! I¡¯m bad for electronics!¡± ¡°I know, man,¡± said the disc. ¡°Calm down. He warned me to keep my distance.¡± Kolade looked annoyed. ¡°You think I¡¯d bring him to meet you without telling him about your little problem?¡± ¡°You brought him here without telling me!¡± said Silas. ¡°I asked first.¡± said Kolade. ¡°What if I¡¯d said no?¡± asked Silas. ¡°What would you have done, just stayed in his bag?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Gilmour, hovering. ¡°I¡¯d have popped out and said, what, I make a whole new identity for you and you moan about the cool name I gave you and then won¡¯t even meet me for a chat about my fantastic business proposal? Rude.¡± Silas sighed. ¡°Thank you, Gilmour,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you.¡± ¡°My pleasure, Atesthas,¡± ---------- ¡°Who¡¯s this person?¡± Pallas placed both hands onto the console and leaned over to peer at the screen. ¡°PresidentPlugPuller,¡± she read. ¡°What is he doing?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t really know,¡± said Orson. Neither did the other viewers, lots of people were typing ¡®????¡¯ into the message box. ¡°Is this what he always does?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Orson. ¡°Usually he just talks and sometimes plays games,¡± ¡°Does he ever go into holes?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Orson. ¡°Well, not while he¡¯s doing his show, anyway.¡± ¡°Shame,¡± said Pallas, shrugging. ¡°He¡¯s got a lot of machine parts, for a human,¡± ¡°Aye,¡± said Orson. ¡°Was he in an accident?¡± ¡°No, he got them by choice,¡± said Orson. ¡°He wanted them,¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Machine parts are cool,¡± said Orson, smiling. ¡°Much better than meat. There are lots of people who replace bits of their bodies with machinery. Look-¡± He chose a video segment that had another paramech livecaster on it. A young woman, talking and gesticulating with her mechanical arms. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I have to keep re-iterating that this is a good thing,¡± said the woman. ¡°We all have criticisms of Daintree, legitimate criticisms, but this is a really wonderful progressive step they¡¯re trying to take,¡± She froze, paused, as the video cut back to PresidentPlugPuller. He was managing to look exasperated in a smug way. ¡°Really wonderful,¡± he sneered. ¡°The usual incisive analysis from our friend AmateurPsychorragist. Let¡¯s see what else she¡¯s got to say.¡± The woman unpaused. ¡°They¡¯re this close to recognising artificial people as humans.¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s never been so close. And if Daintree recognise our artificial brothers and sisters, you know other corporations are going to have to follow. This could be it, guys, this could be-¡± She froze again and the video cut back to PresidentPlugPuller sitting with his head in his hands. ¡°Incredible,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not confident that I¡¯m following this,¡± said Pallas. It drummed its fingers on its chin, affecting a ¡®thinking¡¯ expression. ¡°Are these people friends? Is this an argument?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Orson, pausing the video. ¡°Well, yes, it is, but these two people aren¡¯t arguing with each other directly. The girl, uhm, the woman, she made this video where she¡¯s saying that it¡¯s a good thing if Daintree declare that all their non-human workers, uh, the mechs, are actually human,¡± The robot nodded slowly. ¡°And he, PresidentPlugPuller, is giving a different opinion of things,¡± said Orson. ¡°He, uh, says that people who are robots and mechs and things aren¡¯t human.¡± ¡°Oh¡± said the machine. ¡°Is he one of these religious guys? The sanctity of creation thing? I saw a video where-¡± ¡°No, no.¡± said Orson. ¡°PresidentPlugPuller is an activist for mech rights.¡± ¡°But he doesn¡¯t think that we should be considered human?¡± ¡°No.¡± said Orson. ¡°Of course not. Because you¡¯re not. It would be a downgrade for you guys to be designated human,¡± ¡°It would? How?¡± Pallas was staring at him very intently. Orson started to feel a bit awkward. Sometimes the thought crossed his mind: If what I¡¯m doing right now was recorded and livecast, would the comments people left on it make me have to immediately commit suicide? This was turning into a scene he wouldn¡¯t want to read the comments on. ¡°Hasn¡¯t Dr. McPhail discussed this sort of thing with you?¡± Pallas shook its head. ¡°Well. I don¡¯t know what your...situation with Dr McPhail is. Like if he owns you. You know?¡± ¡°He says he doesn¡¯t. He says he¡¯s just my caretaker, because he found me.¡± ¡°I was wondering about that,¡± said Orson. ¡°Hesper said-¡± Pallas flapped a hand dismissively. ¡°Finish explaining your thing first.¡± ¡°Uh,¡± said Orson. ¡°I think- and PresidentPlugPuller thinks, quite a lot of people think, that it will be...bad...for machine people and also for...biological people, natural people, it will be bad for everybody if Daintree makes a legal decision that mechs are human.¡± Pallas spun its chair round and round a few times. ¡°If it would be bad for everybody,¡± said the robot, ¡°Why would they do it?¡± ¡°It would be bad for everybody except the people who own big companies like Daintree,¡± said Orson. ¡°It would be good for those people. For everybody else, not so good,¡± Pallas stopped spinning. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s what PresidentPlugPuller is about to talk about, probably,¡± said Orson, in awe of his own patience. ¡°He¡¯ll explain in it better than I would,¡± He hit ¡®play¡¯ again. Chapter 6
Satellite Auro Tudor 5RRCa felt his propulsion system activate and his thrusters swivel. Something was controlling him remotely. Nobody could control him remotely, he was autonomous. He monitored and corrected his own movement. On the rare occasions his employers wanted him to alter course or travel, they had to send him a request of what they wanted him to do. The mech guild made sure of that. Steven¡¯s employer¡¯s could just remotely fire his thrusters and shift him around but they wouldn¡¯t dare: the mech guild protected its members¡¯ bodily autonomy and dignity. Nobody would be so rash as to just hijack a satellite, even one as insignificant as Steven who had practically no defences because he didn¡¯t deal with anything very sensitive or important. He was moving out of orbit. CirclingTheDrain: Okay, I believe you¡¯re a robot trapped underground now. You convinced me. Well done. Now give me back control of my thrusters Trypt0phil3: No Trypt0phil3: sorry CirclingTheDrain: I need to get back onto my route. I have a job to do. I can chat to you all day but I have to stay on course. I can¡¯t just mess around like this Trypt0phil3: we can¡¯t chat much longer. I¡¯m about to lose my connection Trypt0phil3: I¡¯ve set you on a new course CirclingTheDrain: to where Trypt0phil3: you know to where I sent you the co-ordinates CirclingTheDrain: no Trypt0phil3: we¡¯ll get to meet in-person! CirclingTheDrain: no you can¡¯t Trypt0phil3: I am sorry Trypt0phil3: I¡¯ll apologise properly when you get here Trypt0phil3: it¡¯ll only take a few years and if one of the others gets here first then I can just re-route you and send you back CirclingTheDrain: one of the other what Trypt0phil3: I told you I¡¯ve been down here for almost 7 years you think you¡¯re the first? CirclingTheDrain: in 7 years no satellite has reached you Trypt0phil3: no Trypt0phil3: not yet Trypt0phil3: but I know what went wrong before Trypt0phil3: mostly Trypt0phil3: I know where lots of the hazards are now so the route you¡¯re on should be safe Trypt0phil3: I know where the other guys got smashed or stuck so I can steer you around those CirclingTheDrain: no let me go CirclingTheDrain: please CirclingTheDrain: please Trypt0phil3: don¡¯t worry it¡¯ll be fine Trypt0phil3: and I¡¯ll be in contact from time to time when I get a bounce and we can chat more CirclingTheDrain: please don¡¯t do this please Trypt0phil3: connections going now Trypt0phil3: bye CirclingTheDrain: please CirclingTheDrain: please CirclingTheDrain: please don¡¯t CirclingTheDrain: plea ...and then Steven¡¯s connection dropped out, too. That had been five or six days ago. For five or six days he¡¯d been hurtling away from Umbriel, accelerating constantly, his little engines generating as much thrust as they were capable of. He pinged constantly, trying to contact someone, something, anything. Nothing bounced back. He was completely alone and getting further and further away every second from the space he knew. Maybe, he thought, when his employers realised that he wasn¡¯t in his orbit, they would contact the mech guild before they started disciplinary procedures. And maybe the mech guild would send a ship out to look for him. They might just get a feeling that something sinister was afoot, that he hadn¡¯t just decided to abandon his post- after all, he¡¯d never done anything like that before, he was a good worker. Reliable. Maybe they would ask around to other satellites and some of them might post on the same forums he did- after all, it was true, satellites were always posting on the forums. Somebody might know he was into the football and they would look and find his posts, find his conversation with Trypt0phil3, find the co-ordinates...except, they had been sent directly to him. That was how Trypt0phil3 had gotten past his firewall, he had dropped it so the co-ordinates could come straight through. Nobody knew where he was and where he was going except Trypt0phil3. Trypt0phil3 who had flown who knew how many other satellites into oblivion. Steven tried not to think the ways the others who had gone before would have...gone. Steered into the path of asteroids and demolished. Flown too close to something big enough to capture them in gravity that a little satellite engine didn¡¯t have the power to get out of. Set on a slightly miscalculated route that sent them off into eternity. They could have been pulled into a black hole, even. Steven tried especially hard to keep that thought out. It was unlikely but it was the one that scared him the most. That¡¯s not what happened, though. He just got...stuck. The route the satellite was helplessly following took him into the orbit of, he didn¡¯t know, a moon or something. Maybe a small planet. Pretty big, whatever it was. Steven started to circumnavigate it and realised that Trypt0phil3 had probably intended to use it to slingshot him out towards the forsaken nightmare graveyard it was so keen to pull him into. If this was the case, was it bad luck or good that Steve didn¡¯t slingshot anywhere? He didn¡¯t really know. He went back and forth. That was all he did now. The route planned for him hadn¡¯t taken into consideration the location of gravity wells and Steven had rolled right into one. He wasn¡¯t going anywhere any more. On the bright side, he wasn¡¯t going to wherever Trypt0phil3 was. On the other hand, he wasn¡¯t going anywhere. Maybe forever. So, swings and roundabouts? He kept pinging. Trypt0phil3 never messaged him again. ---------- Orson was woken up by the bunk curtain being pulled aside. He¡¯d been deep in a dreamless sleep. He¡¯s been sleeping so hard that every part of him ached, down to the bones. He was flat on his back, sweat soaking the back of his vest. He opened his eyes to see Hesper standing over him. ¡°Rise and shine,¡± she said, unsmiling, ¡°Get up, get dressed. You¡¯ve got five minutes and then it¡¯s time to go.¡± Orson¡¯s insides turned to ice. ¡°Go where?¡± ¡°Another errand,¡± said Hesper. She stepped back from the bunk a bit and Orson saw that she was wearing a sort of uniform. Like a ship¡¯s captain¡¯s outfit kind of thing, Orson thought. Sort of military, Orson didn¡¯t know about things like that. She took her handheld out of a pocket on the jacket and turned away. Her hair was done up a tight bun. Orson wondered what she was dressed up for. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± she said over her shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re not getting rid of you yet. We have to go and collect something. Someone.¡± Relief gave Orson a mild rush. ¡°Sounds exciting,¡± he said with genuine enthusiasm. He rolled onto his side and swung his booted feet out of the bunk. ¡°Hopefully it won¡¯t be,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Hopefully it¡¯ll be completely uneventful.¡± ¡°I¡¯m really interested now.¡± said Orson. He was also really sweaty. His new jacket was pressed into damp folds where he¡¯d been lying on it. He¡¯d been sleeping on top of all his stuff. All his shopping bags were strewn around the bunk. He started rummaging, looking for a fresh teeshirt. Maybe he should change his pants too? ¡°Right, I¡¯ve ordered a ride. It says seven minutes. Do whatever you need to and get your arse to the back door before I open it. Six minutes.¡± ¡°Six minutes,¡± Orson was at the back door before Hesper was. He¡¯d changed his sweaty teeshirt for a fresh one, not changed his pants and had a spray of deodorant. He¡¯d also hung up his jacket to air out. He was feeling extremely together. He had his new hi-vis hoodie on. It was so stiff that it could almost stand up by itself and it smelled like the spray adhesive they used in the distribution centre to attach labels. The smell made him feel a bit anxious, in a nostalgic sort of way. Hesper came out through the airlock and walked across the hangar, poking at her handheld as usual. She had smart shoes on instead of her usual boots, slip-on ones with a heel. She still stomped like she did in her boots. It was odd to see her in a skirt and tights. Orson thought she looked nice. ¡°Ready to go? Great.¡± Hesper pushed her handheld into the little shoulder bag she was carrying and stepped over to the lock panel at the side of the hatch. ¡°McPhail!¡± she yelled. ¡°Come and close up after us.¡± There was a vaguely positive muffled response from behind them. The shutter started rolling up, letting in cold grey light. The ramp down to the ground appeared as the hatch opened. ¡°There¡¯s our ride,¡± said Hesper, nodding towards a big slate-grey vehicle waiting near the bottom of the ramp. Hesper nudged Orson out the door. ¡°On you go,¡± ¡°Aye-aye, sir,¡± said Orson. He stepped out onto the ramp, leery in case it was slippy. ¡°Wait-¡± said Hesper. She tutted and fished a factor out of Orson¡¯s hood. She tossed the little machine back in through the hatch and it flew away unsteadily into the ship. ¡°Okay, go, go.¡± Hesper put her handheld up to the panel on the side of the car and the doors popped open for them. ¡°You get in that side,¡± she told Orson. He dutifully trotted around to the other side and got in. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Is this going to be a long journey?¡± he asked as they both settled into their seats. The doors closed themselves. ¡°No,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Why, are you hungry?¡± ¡°No,¡± lied Orson. ¡°Yes. But I was just wondering.¡± ¡°Ten minutes. Can you hang on that long?¡± ¡°No promises.¡± ¡°Hm.¡± Orson looked out the car window. Wherever they were looked like a planet or a moon or something rather than a station. The light seemed to be natural. It was depressing. Orson didn¡¯t like not having a ceiling over him. ¡°Where did you say we are?¡± he asked Hesper. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s Telesto. Do you know where that is?¡± ¡°No. But I¡¯ve heard of it.¡± Whenever Orson heard about people going somewhere glamorous on their travels Telesto seemed to be the spaceport they went through. It didn¡¯t look how Orson would have expected. It looked rubbish. It was just grey light and grey road and quite low grey buildings. ¡°I thought Telesto was this really big, fancy place¡± he said. ¡°With hotels and casinos and the posh marina, and all sorts of shops and entertainments and stuff,¡± ¡°That¡¯s behind us.¡± said Hesper. ¡°They only ever show the swanky bits. We¡¯re going out into the less salubrious neighbourhoods.¡± ¡°To pick up this person?¡± ¡°To pick up our person, yes.¡± They had to pass through three separate layers of security fencing, each one with a checkpoint where Hesper had to show various things on her handheld and answer questions. After the second checkpoint Orson would have guessed that the place they were approaching was a prison. After the third one he caught his first sight of the enormous sprawling complex. ¡°Are we going to a prison?¡± he asked, nerves starting to upset his tummy. He had a feeling he might be getting dropped off here despite Hesper¡¯s reassurance earlier that his time hadn¡¯t come quite yet. ¡°No, this is just the security office.¡± ¡°Oh. Big office,¡± ¡°Telesto¡¯s a big spaceport. Lots of people to arrest. Smugglers, migrants, drunks kicked off flights to Mimas.¡± ¡°Right. What kind are we here to collect?¡± ¡°Nothing that interesting.¡± The car took them straight through a security gate where they didn¡¯t have to stop but seemed to be scanned and photographed from multiple directions as they passed through. They drove up towards what seemed like it could be the main entrance but then the car took a left to the side of that building. Then they were driving down a street between lots of large, roughly similar but not ¡®matching¡¯ buildings. Within moments there was no way Orson could have found his way back out if the car had turfed him out. It had taken so many turns already, rights and lefts, down completely unmarked nondescript streets with no signs or obvious landmarks. ¡°Have you been here before?¡± he asked. The car and Hesper both said ¡®Yes¡¯ simultaneously. ¡°Okay.¡± said Orson. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you know your way around.¡± Eventually the car stopped outside another security fence. This one appeared to enclose one smallish building that had armed guards outside: the first people Orson had seen in a while. There was a checkpoint that required Hesper and Orson to actually step out of the car and be taken into a small office while guards searched the car (more of a cursory glance over by the look of things, it didn¡¯t take very long). ¡°You¡¯re a couple of minutes early,¡± said the mech overseeing the office. ¡°There will be a brief wait before the gate opens,¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell the car,¡± said Hesper. ¡°It knows,¡± said the mech. ¡°Get back into the vehicle now, please.¡± Hesper kept her grumbles under her breath until they were back in the car with the doors shut, then turned the volume back up. ¡°We¡¯re not early, they always do this. Keep you waiting just because they can. Jumped-up power-tripping machines¡­¡± ¡°The problem is power-tripping security narks, not machines,¡± said Orson. ¡°Security are all human, machines won¡¯t do those jobs,¡± The one I¡¯m complaining about was a machine, though.¡± said Hesper. ¡°They put mechs into public-facing roles in places like this,¡± said Orson. ¡°So people get angry at a machine instead of security,¡± ¡°That mech was working in a security office,¡± said the car. ¡°I know,¡± said Orson. ¡°But they¡¯re just office staff, they¡¯re not actually working in enforcement...¡± ¡°Save it, Orson.¡± said Hesper. ¡°Good grief. It¡¯s like being in the sixth-year common room again. Belt up or I will get that nark droid to arrest you right now.¡± The car laughed. ¡°How about some music while we wait, then?¡± it offered. ¡°Go ahead,¡± said Hesper. Orson blushed furiously. The gate opened after what felt like half an hour (the car¡¯s music taste was terrible) and they drove through the security fence and up to the front of the building. There was a rectangle marked on the road outside and a sign instructing them to WAIT IN BOX ENGINE OFF ¡°Do we go in?¡± asked Orson. ¡°No, they bring him out,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Car, did I suggest that you might want to close your privacy shielding to seal the passenger compartment?¡± The car turned down the music. ¡°You didn¡¯t,¡± it said, ¡°But I¡¯ll do that. You didn¡¯t appreciate my musical selections, I take it,¡± ¡°Oh, this is for your benefit,¡± said Hesper. ¡°The person joining us tends to have a disruptive effect on electronics,¡± ¡°What?¡± said Orson. ¡°You might have told me,¡± said the car, sounding annoyed. ¡°You might not have picked us up,¡± said Hesper. ¡°It¡¯s not that big a problem, as long as you¡¯re shielded. You don¡¯t have any exposed wiring or anything in the back here, do you?¡± ¡°Absolutely not!¡± said the car. ¡°Look around you! You¡¯re enclosed floor-to-ceiling in seamless luxury! I have feet of the most advanced and protective modern materials between you and anything mechanical or electronic,¡± ¡°You should be fine,then,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Sorry for any offence. You do look very well-upholstered,¡± ¡°No offence taken,¡± said the car mildly. ¡°I¡¯ll close my shields once our new passenger is aboard.¡± The car turned the music back up and started singing along. You could tell that the car had taken offence by how badly it was singing. Neither Hesper nor Orson said anything. Orson felt himself getting nervous again. What were they about to take custody of? They were transporting a prisoner, clearly. Orson had a terrible feeling that he was about to lose his bunk. Where would he sleep? Up on the flight deck with Pallas? In the hangar with McPhail¡¯s factors? They would probably like that, though he didn¡¯t think he would. Or McPhail for that matter. Also, maybe the new person would bully him. He wouldn¡¯t like that either. The door to the building (which someone had unofficially designated ¡®departures¡¯ with a handwritten sign taped to the glass) opened and three guards came out. Two of them were hauling someone between them. The person wasn¡¯t struggling but they were definitely not co-operating either. They didn¡¯t seem to be very conscious. ¡°What the¡­¡± murmured Hesper, followed by a word that Orson didn¡¯t catch. The security guys dragged the person over to the car. ¡°OPEN UP¡± ordered the third guard, the one who wasn¡¯t helping manhandle the prisoner. He was just carrying a handheld, he must be the supervisor or something. The car opened up its doors. ¡°Responsible party come forward to sign for the handover,¡± said the supervisor. Hesper sighed and scooted herself across and out of the car. Orson sat perfectly still so as not to attract attention. The car dipped slightly and the guards put the semi-conscious person into it in the way narks put people into vehicles on shows, pushing his head down and levering him in. He slumped down across the seats towards Orson. The guy looked handsome and also looked as though he had been recently punched in the face. He was wearing a black tuxedo or suit jacket (Orson didn¡¯t know the difference but he knew it was one of those things) and black suit trousers; no shirt, no shoes. Orson shifted his bum as far away as he could get from the mess. He wondered if it would upset the car that someone was bleeding all over its seats. He wondered if Hesper would make him clean it up. ¡°Look at the state of you,¡± said Hesper wearily, leaning into the car. She grabbed the guy¡¯s legs and tucked him further into the car. His bloody face pushed up against Orson¡¯s thigh. ¡°Sit him up,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Come on, I brought you along to help with this idiot,¡± Orson didn¡¯t want to get any closer to the bleeding man, let alone touch him. He leaned in gingerly and patted the guy on the shoulder. He felt like solid muscle. ¡°Hey,¡± said Orson. ¡°Hey, are you awake?¡± ¡°He¡¯s just being difficult¡± said Hesper. ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± Hesper said something that didn¡¯t sound like a name. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a name,¡± said Orson. ¡°Hey, can you wake up? It would be really handy,¡± The handsome bleeding guy grunted and opened his eyes a bit. ¡°Oh, hi!¡± said Orson. ¡°Can you sit up?¡± ¡°No,¡± ¡°I think you can. Come on-¡± Orson pushed his hands under the other man¡¯s armpits and tried to encourage him upwards. ¡°No¡­¡± protested the man. ¡°I want to lie down.¡± ¡°Get in!¡± ordered Hesper, grabbing the man¡¯s backside. He squirmed away from her, grabbing onto Orson. Orson bear-hugged his lean, solid body and hauled him into a sitting position. ¡°There we go!¡± he said triumphantly, extracting himself from the bloody guy¡¯s confused embrace. ¡°Finally.¡± said Hesper. She gave a double tap on the driver¡¯s side window of the car and swung herself into the back seat. The door closed smoothly behind her and the car immediately slid away from the front of the ¡®departures¡¯ building. ¡°Great, let¡¯s go.¡± said Hesper. She rummaged in her small shoulder bag and pulled out a packet of wipes. She handed one to Orson. ¡°Let¡¯s get him cleaned up, shall we?¡± The guy was leaning over onto Orson, passing out again. Orson started awkwardly wiping at his face, wiping the blood off from around his mouth. ¡°What happened to him?¡± ¡°When?¡± ¡°Just before we picked him up there. I mean, why is he bleeding? Did the security guys say?¡± ¡°They didn¡¯t. Which means they happened to him.¡± Orson was just spreading the blood around the guy¡¯s handsome face. ¡°Can I get another wipe? Didn¡¯t you ask why he was all beat up?¡± ¡°Honestly, I assume he deserved it,¡± said Hesper, pulling another wipe out of the packet. The car was passing out through another of the surveillance gates. ¡°Why was he in the jail?¡± asked Orson as he took the wipe. ¡°Because he¡¯s a tube¡± said Hesper. ¡°Everybody knows you need to conduct yourself properly on Telesto. It¡¯s a bloody Free Zone, if people think you¡¯re some kind of degenerate security¡¯ll have you in the cells by your next blink. Whatever Dafty here was doing in the casino toilets, some upstanding patrons suspected it was something depraved and reported him. He managed to get himself beaten up, carried out of the Tulaco Rooms by security and arrested for public indecency. Luckily for him Telesto couldn¡¯t find anything to charge him with so they just detained him for a few days and then beat him up again. And now they¡¯ve given him back to us.¡± Hesper sighed, cleaning her hands with a wipe. ¡°Lucky us,¡± ¡°Huh,¡± said Orson. The blood was starting to come off now. Orson was holding the wasted guy upright with one hand and cleaning his face with the other. He could feel the other man¡¯s heart beating slowly in his chest. ¡°So who is he?¡± Orson asked. ¡°Is he a friend of yours?¡± Hesper snorted, ¡°Definitely not.¡± she said. ¡°This is the commander of the AGMG, Orson. Meet Captain Atesthas Allan.¡± Hesper and Orson walked with Atesthas between them. He was gradually coming around but he still needed to be close to carried. Each of them clutched one of his muscular arms. It was extremely awkward. Atesthas was shorter than Hesper and taller than Orson, solid with muscle but lighter than either of them was. He was in a calm and obedient state, being largely co-operative, but would occasionally just veer off on his own flight path and have to be wrestled back on-course. They were trying to get Atesthas through a shopping centre. Unfortunately the very helpful car could not come into the mall and had had to drop them off. Hesper had given it extra money to go and get Atesthas¡¯ blood cleaned off its seats. She had also given it extra money to come back and get them once it got the blood cleaned off. ¡°It¡¯s not coming back¡­¡± she¡¯d sighed as it drove away, leaving them on the pavement holding Atesthas upright. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t it?¡± said Orson. ¡°Would you come back for us?¡± said Hesper. ¡°Look at us. In fact¡­¡± Hesper looked around. ¡°Let¡¯s take him over there. He can sit on that thing while we tidy him up a bit. Right now I think they might not let us into the centre.¡± They manhandled Atesthas over towards a grey concrete thing that was hanging around on the concourse either to be decorative or to stop things driving up to the front of the mall. Maybe both. It was definitely not there to be sat on which was indicated by the metal projections installed all over it at less-than-bum-width intervals. Atesthas was pretty out of it though, which in this situation was helpful. Hesper guided him to sit straddling a suitable part of the object. ¡°You¡¯ve got his shoes?¡± she asked Orson. He nodded. The cops had tossed them into the car. Orson had stuck them in the front pocket of his hoodie. ¡°Get them on him,¡± said Hesper. ¡°I¡¯ll clean his face up,¡± ¡°I already did that,¡± said Orson. ¡°Sure.¡± Orson pulled Atesthas¡¯ shoes out of his jumper. There were socks tucked inside the shoes so he decided to put those onto Atesthas first. ¡°This is your boss?¡± Orson asked Hesper. She was scrubbing away at Atesthas¡¯ face with a wet wipe. Orson tried to pull one of Atesthas¡¯ shoes onto a foot but it got sort of stuck. ¡°Yes,¡± said Hesper through gritted teeth. ¡°He¡¯s the captain.¡± ¡°I thought you were the captain,¡± ¡°Why would you think that? I never said I was,¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± said Orson, trying again with the shoe at a different angle. ¡°You just seem like you would be.¡± ¡°Thank you, I suppose,¡± said Hesper. ¡°But I¡¯m not.¡± ¡°Atesthas is probably more captain-like when he¡¯s fully conscious,¡± said Orson optimistically. ¡°Right?¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± said Hesper non-commitally. People passing by were definitely giving them strange looks. Orson supposed they were a mismatched looking group; Hesper businesslike with her severe bun and uniform, Orson dressed like the guy who got the coffees on a construction site, Atesthas a disappointing son who¡¯d dried out on the beach after falling off dad¡¯s yacht partying the night before. Or it might just be because Orson was trying to put a grown man¡¯s shoes on in public. ¡°I¡¯m thirsty,¡± said Atesthas suddenly. ¡°We¡¯ll get you a drink soon,¡± said Hesper. ¡°We¡¯re going to Langos Barn and you can get a fountain diet Akopik.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Put your shoes on and we can go to Langos Barn,¡± suggested Hesper. Atesthas stood up off the concrete shape and stepped into his shoes. ¡°Great!¡± said Orson. Atesthas started trying to walk off. ¡°Waitwaitwait.¡± said Hesper, grabbing his arm. ¡°Let Orson tie your shoes first or you might trip.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s Orson?¡± ¡°Hi¡± said Orson shyly from his position kneeling on the ground. ¡°That¡¯s Orson,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Hi,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Are you coming to Langos Barn?¡± ¡°Am I coming to Langos Barn?¡± said Orson, suddenly full of doubt. He pulled the laces on Atesthas¡¯s left shoe tight and tied them in a bow. Then he double-knotted it. ¡°We¡¯re all going to Langos Barn,¡± Hesper assured both of them. ¡°Now that Captain Allan looks a bit more respectable,¡± Orson tied the other shoe. Hesper appeared to notice for the first time that Atesthas didn¡¯t have a shirt on. ¡°Oh, good grief.¡± she groaned, buttoning up his suit jacket. ¡°Why is your shirt missing?¡± ¡°We can get him a teeshirt or something in the shopping-centre.¡± said Orson, hauling himself to his feet. ¡°Go ahead,¡± said Hesper. ¡°You do that. Come on, let¡¯s get him inside.¡± They got a plain white teeshirt for Atesthas in a discount clothing place. Obviously Hesper was the one who had to buy it. They found a toilet after what seemed like half a day of searching and consulting floor plans. Hesper sent Orson into the bathroom to help Atesthas into his new teeshirt. Atesthas seemed quite comfortable with it. Orson thought he would be happy to have people see him with no top on if he looked like Atesthas. The captain looked as though he worked out a bit and also as though he¡¯d been in a terrible, interesting accident at some point. When Atesthas first took off his jacket and Orson saw the amazing mess underneath he let out a gasp of horror. For a second he thought the mutilation had just happened to Atesthas in custody on Telesto. Then sense re-engaged and he realised that what he was seeing was fully healed injuries, damage from something that had happened years previously. Atesthas was covered in scars and bits of metal and stuff sticking out that Orson thought was very cool. Orson took Atesthas¡¯ jacket from him and handed him over the new teeshirt. Orson had pulled the tags off it, ready for Atesthas to wear. ¡°If it doesn¡¯t fit we can just get you another one,¡± he told Atesthas as he struggled into the teeshirt. ¡°It was really cheap.¡± The teeshirt kept getting hooked on the hardwear sticking out of Atesthas¡¯ torso. Orson helped awkwardly by pulling it off when it got caught. The teeshirt was such cheap material that it got a couple of runs in it immediately at the places where it had snagged. It was also a little bit big but that was fine, it just needed to cover him up. Orson helped Atesthas into his jacket and buttoned it up for him. The jacket fit so perfectly over Atesthas¡¯s body that Orson was pretty sure it must be bespoke or at least have been tailored for him. ¡°How are you doing, okay?¡± Orson asked Atesthas. Atesthas looked dazed still but getting a bit more miserable as he came around. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he said. ¡°Head¡¯s sore.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± said Orson, looking at Atesthas¡¯ black eyes and clearly broken nose. ¡°We should get you something for that.¡±He smoothed down the front of Atesthas¡¯ jacket a bit over his flat belly. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Atesthas nodded and followed Orson out of the bathroom. Hesper had taken a seat underneath some fake pink and lilac plants a little bit away from the toilets. She called out to the two men as they exited confused from the bathrooms and started to wander aimlessly, immediately lost. ¡°Hey, idiots,¡± she yelled. ¡°Over here.¡± Relief brightened Orson¡¯s face. He ambled over towards her. ¡°Where did you get that?¡± he asked. Hesper finished her cold coffee drink and tossed the can into a nearby bin. ¡°What were the two of you up to in there?¡± ¡°You know, getting to know each other,¡± said Orson. ¡°Bonding. It went so well Captain says he wants to make me his second-in-command.¡± Hesper gave him a forced smile. ¡°Good. That¡¯s great.¡± ¡°Atesthas says his head hurts, can we go to a chemist and get him something?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got better somethings than they¡¯ll sell in a shopping centre.¡± said Hesper. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t take them on an empty stomach though. Food court¡¯s upstairs.¡± Hesper ordered on her handheld as they went up various escalators. ¡°Captain Allan and I have a tradition,¡± she told Orson. ¡°Whenever I have to collect him semi-conscious from somewhere I take him for an all-day breakfast muffin and a diet Akopik at Langos Barn.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± said Orson. Because he couldn¡¯t think of a follow-up, he just added ¡°Cool.¡± They travelled up the rest of the escalators in silence. Chapter 7
Life for McPhail was so much better when he was alone. He used to be a geologist. A lot of travel, with survey teams and groundbreaking teams. It was fine. He used to be married, that was fine too. They didn¡¯t see all that much of each other which was how they both liked it. Then there was this one very difficult year. Maybe getting on for two years by the time the various parts had stopped bouncing and rolling. At the end of it McPhail didn¡¯t have a wife or work as a geologist any more. Not entirely unrelated. Then out of the spiral McPhail¡¯s sister got in touch to tell him their mum had died. McPhail wasn¡¯t close to his family. There was no animosity but no real affection either. He hadn¡¯t even told his sister that he had gotten divorced. Dad had died six? seven? years previously and now mum had joined him. And it turned out there was a will, and there was something for McPhail in it. It wasn¡¯t a huge inheritance or anything. His parents had been comfortable- more comfortable than he¡¯d known, as it turned out- but not rich. At the time, though, it was a life-changing sum of money for McPhail. It wasn¡¯t the kind of money that let you buy a ship outright. But now he had money that would let you own enough of a ship that it was almost like it was yours. McPhail could have owned more of a ship if he¡¯d gotten something smaller but he needed plenty room inside so he purchased something old, ugly, tatty and big. Small crew cab, all storage space. Then he and his team went into the salvage business. That was the short version of the story. That was still a lot more than McPhail told most people. Not that he guarded any secrets, he just didn¡¯t need people to know much about him. He didn¡¯t like to talk and he didn¡¯t much like to listen to the kind of things that people normally wanted to talk at you about. People did sometimes have interesting things to tell you but rarely face to face. To find the interesting stuff you had to go looking. McPhail was a lurker of some horrendous message boards. Not usually anything immoral or specifically hateful, just conspiracy-brained shut-in fantasising. McPhail rarely believed any of it. He was a sceptical man by nature, though becoming less so as he grew old and saw more of just how strange the universe could be. Usually the nonsense folk shared on the boards was just rubbish. Conspiracy theories and ghost stories dressed up as something not supernatural and people just making stuff up for attention. Very occasionally it could point you in the direction of something interesting. Or, you¡¯d trip up on some hokum someone had left lying around and stumble onto something else. And then that might lead you somewhere interesting. There was a set of co-ordinates that he kept coming across. It came up again and again. Not usually the co-ordinates themselves but references to them. You just had to allude to them and people would know where you meant. People talked about this particular location as being the source for ¡®ghost signals¡¯ that people would occasionally pick up as they passed through this one specific area. Or that people who were messing about with extremely long-range scanning equipment would detect. It was usually guys who had done jaunts on haulage craft who reported catching these odd signals. Posting the actual co-ordinates was a good way to make your post or even your account disappear, so most people referred to it as UZB-76. The location wasn¡¯t on a commonly used route but there was sometimes cause to detour one of the usual paths when there was a particularly inconvenient confluence of several irregular bodies that made it impassable. If you had to take a detour off that detour for some reason you would probably take a route that had become notorious amongst hauler crews. You always saw folk talking about how it was ¡®cursed¡¯ and sharing the stories about incidents they claimed to have witnessed- or that someone they knew had- whilst traversing this particular stretch of space. People who had killed bunkmates out of the blue for no reason. Things going wrong with ships that had sailed through their last inspections. ¡°It¡¯s got something wrong with it,¡± people would say ¡°there¡¯s something weird out there. That¡¯s why it¡¯s not used as the normal route.¡± There was no other reason to explain why it wasn¡¯t used. The space was pretty empty and not difficult to navigate. But it wasn¡¯t an area you passed through unless unusual circumstances required it. For ships that had to venture through there was a notable increase in deaths on board, mechanical failure, ships getting inexplicably lost. McPhail enjoyed such stories, though his own theory of what was going on in the area was not as exciting. It seemed to McPhail that if there was a path ships only took if they had to re-route off an already less-than-optimal alternative path, a detour off a detour, there would be increased incidence of violence on board ships that had to take that path. Sailors who were increasingly bored and stressed on a lengthening and less lucrative jaunt would get on each other¡¯s nerves. And it made sense that more ships would lose their way on a route that was less travelled and therefore less mapped and less familiar. Similarly it became more likely that a ship would have mechanical problems on a journey that had lengthened unexpectedly. The same circumstances mostly explained why sailors on this particular trail would pick up the ¡®ghost signal¡¯ you saw posts about. Sailors who were bored, having to pass more times than expected, maybe losing access to the pipes they¡¯d been using to get entertainment, would start scanning around for other signals. Maybe widening the bands they were searching, maybe just paying more attention to their devices while they scanned. And they would notice the odd, unexpected- unexplained?- things that they were picking up. Signals that shouldn¡¯t be there, because there wasn¡¯t supposed to be anything in this area that would be signalling. A little while after he got divorced and lost his latest job, needing something to do, McPhail had started investigating the co-ordinates that everyone nicknamed UZB-76. At first he found nothing other than people¡¯s ghost stories and conspiracy theories. Nothing other than the silly and creepy stuff. But McPhail was in a highly motivated phase. He knew that there were lots of things a very motivated man could apply himself to and most of them were disagreeable. He was still working, of course, he had to keep some money coming in. At first he would pick up some work on building sites. In his free time he¡¯d be too tired to do anything but eat a little, wash himself and his clothes and sleep to recover for his next shift. Then he got an in to some environmental consulting which meant he had some energy left for his own pursuits, and also he could do his personal pursuing while he was supposed to be working. Spending hours and hours and days reading reams of extremely questionable message board postings was not a good use of his time but it was comparatively benign. He had to keep himself busy. And he was allowed to have some fun. He did believe people were picking up signals. The accounts had some consistency. The explanation, he thought, would be too boring for the spooky story fans but was quite exciting to him, because it related to an area of work he¡¯d been considering going into. There wasn¡¯t anyone or anything signalling from there now, but there had been. There might not be any records of it but at some point some company had had an interest in the area. They had done some exploratory visits at least and maybe stayed a while. Then they had decided to leave. Maybe quickly. They¡¯d left stuff behind. It happened a lot. A company would send first probes and then maybe mech surveyors, and then humans to a moon or an asteroid or something that seemed like it would be worth the massive investment of trucking tonnes of equipment and people out to start digging or blasting bits off of it. Sometimes- quite a lot of the time- when you scratched deeper than the surface it all turned out to be a near incalculably vast waste of time and money ¡®cause you just had a dusty lump of rock with no interesting minerals in it. So then you had to ship everybody and everything that was worth keeping back to where they had come from. Or, more likely, on to another lump of rock somewhere that you had a good feeling about. A lot of the time a lot of stuff get left behind. McPhail had a thought that for fun and profit it would be a good wheeze to traipse around these missteps and rake through the junk and detritus of other people¡¯s failed endeavours. He bet he could find all kinds of interesting stuff. Probably some valuable stuff. McPhail had been reading some imaginaut¡¯s pamphlet-length forum post about how Berry-Rathcoote had started to lay infrastructure for a mining operation on Kore and abandoned it because the moon was haunted. McPhail was quite certain that Kore was not haunted but it got him thinking: how would you know if a company had had an interest somewhere in the past and abandoned it? McPhail put pins in the co-ordinates of a few sites that he was confident were scrapped extraction projects. All places that there wasn¡¯t any easily-accessed information about but enough forum talk about spooky signals and weird phenomena in the area had highlighted them as potential areas of interest. A little bit of corporate forensics identified the ones that it seemed likely had been developed before they were abandoned. It was just a hobby and his list of targets was really just a wishlist until McPhail got his unexpected inheritance. Then suddenly he had damn near his own ship and the wishlist was a to-do list. McPhail was pretty sure he had identified some places that no-one else would have picked over yet. There was no reason to stay and nothing left to do other than decide which one to check out first. He sent his ex-wife, who was still his best friend after all, her share of the money and a description of his plans for the next couple of decades of his life. He knew she¡¯d be a bit envious, which he wanted, and he also wanted someone to know what had happened if it was the last thing anyone ever heard from him. ---------- ¡°You busy, Hesper?¡± asked McPhail. ¡°Not really. Looking at local sales listings,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Not sure what sort of human trade they have here.¡± McPhail rubbed at his beard. ¡°You¡¯re not really planning to sell Orson,¡± he said. ¡°Will if the price is right,¡± insisted Hesper. ¡°Care to take a look at something?¡± asked McPhail. ¡°Might be nothing,¡± Hesper was immediately focused on McPhail. He wouldn¡¯t bother her with anything that wasn¡¯t important, unlike the constant tumble of nonsense and lies from everyone else. She was inclined to assume it was something if McPhail had decided to bring it to her attention. ¡°What is it?¡± she asked him. McPhail put one of the scanner views from the console onto the large screen above. ¡°See here, on medium range?¡± he asked. Hesper looked. She saw nothing. A shadow on the scan, a blank area where there was no data. It wasn¡¯t identifying that something was there, just that it couldn¡¯t tell what was in that position a few miles behind them. Holding that position a few miles behind them. ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°I see. I see that I can¡¯t see. Is this a live view?¡± ¡°It is live,¡± ¡°How long has that been there?¡± McPhail started tapping away at the console. ¡°First noticed it five days ago. Then three days ago. This was the first sign.¡± McPhail replaced the live medium-range view on the screen with the archived one from five days previous. ¡°It was there, see?¡± McPhail pointed to the playback of the scan he¡¯d put up. You could see the little representation of the AGMG in the centre of the screen and right over on the edge, the bottom right hand corner, a shadow. Nothing most people would even notice. Hesper believed McPhail had, though. ¡°I didn¡¯t see it the day after that,¡± McPhail continued. ¡°But then it was behind us again on the third day. A little closer. That was when I realised I¡¯d seen it before. See? There it was.¡± Hesper nodded. It had been there. Getting nearer to them. Still just a shadow on the scan. The scan not giving any more information than ¡®there¡¯s something here¡¯. ¡°And then the next day,¡± said McPhail. He put up that day¡¯s scan recording. The shadow still there and getting closer. ¡°I was going to mention it to you then,¡± said McPhail. ¡°Something came up. It was waiting for us when we left. See?¡± Hesper did see. ¡°And this is today,¡± McPhail changed the view again. ¡°Okay.¡± said Hesper. ¡°I wanted to be sure before I said anything.¡± said McPhail. Hesper looked at the screen. She reached past McPhail to the controls and toggled between today¡¯s view and the previous one. ¡°Right,¡± she said. ¡°I think at this point we can be pretty sure.¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± said McPhail. ¡°How do you want to proceed?¡± ¡°With caution.¡± said Hesper. ¡°If they¡¯re happy just creeping along behind us, I¡¯m happy enough to let them, for now. But if they start creeping a little closer¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye on it,¡± said McPhail. ---------- ¡°Hey.¡± said Pallas suddenly from outside Orson¡¯s bunk. ¡°Guess what.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Can I come in? I mean, can I open the curtain?¡± Orson huffed irritably. He was uncomfortable and grumpy. He had been trying to distract himself from being hungry, trying to either fall asleep or successfully knock one out. He¡¯d completely failed in all three. ¡°Yes, you can come in,¡± he told the robot unenthusiastically, pausing his video and stowing his handheld into the wall-pocket. Pallas pulled the bunk curtain aside and stared in at him. It was sitting cross-legged on the corridor floor. ¡°I bet you can¡¯t guess what I¡¯ve got for you.¡± Orson agreed. He didn¡¯t even want to try. ¡°We came close enough to something big earlier that I got a decent connection and guess what I picked up?¡± ¡°Did you really?¡± said Orson. ¡°Mm-hm. Yep.¡± Pallas nodded, pleased with itself. ¡°Would you like to watch?¡± ¡°Yeah, great!¡± said Orson. ¡°Thank you very much,¡± The machine nodded, face solemn. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°Do you...want to watch with me?¡±offered Orson reluctantly. Pallas was rummaging around in all its pockets for something. ¡°No,¡± it said. ¡°All he does is sit on the couch and yap, yap, yap. You can watch by yourself. Where¡¯s my- oh, got it.¡± She drew out the pink-and-green lead she used to plug herself into things and started poking at the side of her head to find the data port (she seemed to never remember where it was.) ¡°Get your handheld and I¡¯ll download the file onto it for you,¡± Orson pulled his handheld off the wall and passed it over. He was pathetically excited. It had been days since he saw new PlugPuller content. He felt cut off from the real world. ¡°Oh, hey!¡± he said, thrilled. The title of PresidentPlugPuller¡¯s latest livecast was ¡®Daintree CRUSH Mech Workers¡¯s Strike with VIOLENCE and arrests¡¯ ¡°He talked about what happened at my work,¡± said Orson. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see what he said about it.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Asked Pallas. ¡°You were there, weren¡¯t you? You saw what happened. Why do you need to watch a video about it?¡± ¡°Well, I want to see what he thinks about what happened.¡± Pallas changed its mind and decided it also wanted to see what PresidentPlugPuller said about Orson¡¯s work. They both traipsed up to the flight deck to watch on a bigger screen. Pallas plugged itself into the console. ¡°Gimme a sec¡­¡± it said. ¡°There we go.¡± PresidentPlugPuller appeared on the screen, paused, sitting on his couch as usual. Orson¡¯s insides twisted with nerves. ¡°Great,¡± he said, mouth dry. He wasn¡¯t sure what was making him anxious. The video started to play. ¡°Obviously the only thing I¡¯m going to be talking about today is the horrendous attack by Daintree on their mech workers the Dunbar hub,¡± said the young man onscreen. Orson fidgeted. ¡°I¡¯m sure most of you have seen reports about this already.¡± continued PresidentPlugPuller.¡°This was a planned strike, planned for ages. The mech workers¡¯ demands were totally reasonable. But still Daintree decided to call the strike disorderly and illegal and call in station security to suppress it. Disgusting heavy-handed tactics. And Daintree didn¡¯t only use station security. They had hired extra outside teams who were already there. Daintree had been planning to crack down with violence on this strike,¡± Orson¡¯s eyes were wide. He hadn¡¯t known that. ¡°We don¡¯t know everything yet but we do know that every single mech worker at the Dunbar facility was carted off in a prisoner transport ship. A prisoner transport which was also already standing by.¡± ¡°No way¡­¡± said Orson, thrilled. Pallas looked over at him. ¡°So Daintree were planning- had planned- to have their entire machine workforce removed into custody,¡± continued PlugPuller. He paused to have a sip of his usual protein drink. ¡°We know Daintree did this ¡®cause their mech workers dared to strike. But what are Daintree saying was the reason for suppressing this strike?¡± More things that Orson didn¡¯t know. This was exciting. ¡°Daintree¡¯s story is that the strike was illegal because a human worker took part in the action. The only human worker at the fulfilment centre.¡± Orson felt everything swim. His vision greyed. Even though he was sitting down he reached out a hand to steady himself on the console. ¡°I know.¡± said PresidentPlugPuller. ¡°The alarms are going off already. There¡¯s this one single human worker, and this one guy wrecks the strike, I know what you¡¯re thinking-¡± please don¡¯t be me please don¡¯t be me please don¡¯t be me is what Orson was thinking. ¡°-Was this guy a company plant or a dupe? ¡®Cause it¡¯s going to be one of those. Either Daintree put him in there to wreck the strike and he knew what he was doing or he¡¯s just a moron and they tricked him into wrecking the strike,¡± ¡°Which do you think it was?¡± asked Pallas. Orson looked at the robot, wondering if it was joking. He didn¡¯t think it joked. ¡°Pallas, it¡¯s me,¡± he said. ¡°He¡¯s talking about me.¡± ¡°Do you think so?¡± said Pallas. ¡°Oh, well you were a dupe, then.¡± Orson stared at her. ¡°Oh, look!¡± she said suddenly. ¡°It is you!¡± Orson looked back at the screen to see- horrifyingly- his own stupid face staring back at him. Only the very low resolution of the image softened the utter slap in the face shock of it. It was his work ID. PresidentPlugPuller had his work ID up on screen to show to all his viewers. ¡°Orson Foster,¡± said PlugPuller. Hearing his own name coming out of his favourite livecaster¡¯s mouth, his face on the screen, was maybe the strangest experience of Orson¡¯s life so far and definitely the worst. He noticed that he hadn¡¯t heard anything PresidentPlugPuller had said after his name. ¡°-ven years, according to what we could find out. He¡¯s been there for so long. Always in the same job. Zero advancement. And that doesn¡¯t seem like the kind of guy who Daintree would be using to do something like this, you know?¡± The airlock downstairs was starting to seem inviting to Orson. ¡°If he¡¯d been in that warehouse for less than a year I would have no doubt at all that Daintree put him in there specifically for this,¡± said PlugPuller. ¡°It would be a hundred percent definite. But if this Orson Foster is the guy, and he¡¯s been there for that long...seven years in the same place, doing the same thing...I dunno. It makes me think that maybe what we¡¯ve heard so far about this guy isn¡¯t accurate,¡± ¡°Is it accurate?¡± asked Pallas. ¡°Yes.¡± said Orson. ¡°But we¡¯ll find out anyway. There¡¯s going to be more and more information coming out about this story and everyone¡¯s eyes are on this guy now,¡± Orson sat rigid in his seat, staring straight ahead. PresidentPlugPuller stretched in his seat and then leaned back in towards his camera. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure that this guy here-¡± he pointed at Orson¡¯s ID on the screen- ¡°Is the person who wrecked the strike, though. Even if the other information we¡¯ve got about him isn¡¯t right.¡± PlugPuller looked away onto one of his other screens. ¡°We got this video, taken from the security cameras at the back of the facility. If you see here on the video- see, this is out the back of the warehouse. You see the security team here coming out with a stretcher. You can see the guy they¡¯re carrying, fat guy, he¡¯s dressed like a guy who works in a warehouse, hi-vis stuff.¡± PlugPuller paused the video. ¡°It does look like he¡¯s injured. Or they¡¯ve made it look like he is and they¡¯ve gone kind of over the top. That¡¯s a whole bucket of fake blood they¡¯ve thrown over him. Or they¡¯ve almost killed their own guy for real which, it¡¯s Daintree, believable that they would do that. Either way, they carry him out, dying or looking like he¡¯s dying. And they put him straight into the prisoner transport which is, let¡¯s note, already there, look at the time stamp. They were all set, ready to just arrest everybody.¡± PresidentPlugPuller leaned back, looking at the comments his viewers were furiously typing into the live text chat. He played the video again and watched it silently for a few more seconds. ¡°Oh, yeah, and his dick is out in the video. I don¡¯t know what that¡¯s all about.¡± Simon paused the security video again and zoomed in on it. ¡°Just flapping about down there.¡± he said thoughtfully. ¡°Maybe they pulled his dick out so everyone would censor the footage. That might be it. They¡¯re trying to prevent the video being widely broadcast. Yeah, that¡¯s probably it.¡± ---------- ¡°It¡¯s the most convenient way for you to pay off your debt to us,¡± explained Hesper. She took the spoon out of her mug and licked some of the oily black instant coffee granules off it. Orson flinched. ¡°I don¡¯t see why I have to¡­¡± he began, leaning forward onto the small galley table. Hesper clattered her spoon back into her mug and slammed it down very close to his ear. Orson jumped and sat upright again. ¡°We already discussed all this. You don¡¯t think you owe us anything?¡± Hesper walked across the galley- about two steps- and clicked on the kettle. Orson could feel his cheeks reddening. He wrapped his arms around his belly. ¡°. I said you can have all my...whatever¡¯s in here,¡± ¡°You think that¡¯ll cover everything you¡¯ve cost us?¡± said Hesper. ¡°How much do you think the stuff you¡¯ve got in there is worth?¡± Orson shrugged.. How would he know? He wasn¡¯t the one who sold the things that grew inside him. He had never bought a fresh arm-sleeve of skin or a new eye or anything. He¡¯d always assumed the organs and things he grew were pretty valuable. ¡°No idea,¡± he said. ¡°You never thought to ask how much they were selling those things for?¡± scoffed Hesper. ¡°The things they were making you grow inside your own body? It¡¯s not that much.¡± Orson shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t really...care. It¡¯s not my money,¡± ¡°It¡¯s definitely not, is it? It¡¯s your body, though.¡± Orson looked down at himself. ¡°I just have to live here.¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not that attached.¡± Hesper just looked at him. ¡°Well,¡± she said. ¡°Unless you figure out a way to separate yourself from it, you and your body are going to have to do some work.¡± Orson sighed. ¡°So...what happens at these ¡®Free2Work¡¯ places?¡± ¡°All kinds of things. Farming, mining, some manufacturing. We take you to one and they give us a percentage of your debt. Like, most of it but minus fees and costs and blah blah. You stay there and work until you¡¯ve paid it all back. It¡¯s really very convenient and straightforward.¡± ¡°I guess,¡± said Orson. ¡°You just live there in the facility. They provide your accommodation and meals so you don¡¯t have to worry about finding somewhere to stay.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± said Orson. ¡°That¡¯s cool.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± said Hesper. ¡°Cool.¡± ¡°What¡¯s cool?¡± said Atesthas, wandering into the galley. He was wearing a fluffy pink dressing-gown and looked as though he¡¯d just woken up. ¡°Are you making coffee?¡± He flopped down onto the seat next to Orson. His dressing-gown fell open a bit. Orson tried not to stare. ¡°Yes,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Would the captain like some coffee?¡± Atesthas nodded. He yawned extravangantly, leaning over onto Orson slightly. Hesper opened up one of the small overhead cupboards to get another mug. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± she asked Atesthas. ¡°Great.¡± he said. He turned to Orson and offered a hand. ¡°We haven¡¯t really met yet,¡± he said. ¡°Atesthas, or Captain Allan, or captain. Atesthas is fine.¡± ¡°Orson,¡± said Orson. He had to shift around on the seat to attempt a handshake and he only really managed to grab fingers. Very poor. The captain didn¡¯t seem to care, though, if he noticed. ¡°What were you two talking about?¡± asked Atesthas. ¡°Orson¡¯s future employment prospects,¡± said Hesper. She unscrewed the top off a jar of the worst instant coffee in the whole universe. ¡°One scoop or two?¡± Atesthas yawned again. ¡°Two.¡± he said. ¡°Do you need a job, Orson?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± said Hesper before Orson could say anything. ¡°He needs to pay us back for rescuing him,¡± ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°You sort of told me what happened. You were working at a Daintree warehouse, Orson?¡± ¡°Fulfilment centre,¡± ¡°So you¡¯ve got adjuncts and whatnot, you¡¯re mechanically enhanced,¡± Orson reflexively presented his arms, rotating his fists in front of him. ¡°Wee bit,¡± he said. ¡°it¡¯s all deactivated, though.¡± ¡°Mm. And it¡¯s Daintree proprietary stuff so no-one will dare to jailbreak it even if they could,¡± Orson shrugged. ¡°Probably?¡± Atesthas tucked the dressing-gown around him and patted his body gently through it. ¡°That¡¯s why I can¡¯t get fixed. Military adjuncts are Daintree, too,¡± ¡°You were in the army?¡± asked Orson. ¡°Is that what happened to you, you were injured in combat?¡± ¡°I would¡¯ve thought you¡¯d have filled him in on my backstory,¡± said the captain, looking over at Hesper. She was adding some white powder to the coffee cups and didn¡¯t look round. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°I knew he¡¯d be extremely tiresome about it so I left it for you to talk to him about.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± said Atesthas, looking at Orson. ¡°Here¡¯s a cheat code if you need it, Captain,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Say material conditions,¡± ¡°Well, it was material conditions that made him join the military,¡± said Orson. ¡°I know that,¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t my material conditions,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°It was stupidity. I wanted to be a jet pilot.¡± ¡°Oh, is that how you ended up being a ship captain?¡± asked Orson. ¡°You were a military pilot, and then you left the military and-¡± ¡°No,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°I found out that you don¡¯t learn to fly planes by joining the army, you learn to fly planes by having your parents teach you in one of their planes by the time you¡¯re ten.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± said Orson. ¡°And your parents didn¡¯t have any planes to teach you flying in?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Plebs,¡± said Hesper, grinning. She was leaning against the counter, spoon in hand. ¡°Someone should really tell you poor people that it¡¯s much better to join the military as a well-off person. It¡¯s really not a good idea if you¡¯re a povvo, you¡¯ll have a terrible time,¡± Atesthas grunted. ¡°Well, exactly,¡± said Orson. ¡°The corpos lie and give people the idea that you¡¯ll get to do cool stuff like fly planes so that they sign up. Ever since the machines brained-up and Business had to start using humans to do all the martial-industrial work they¡¯ve had to find ways to coerce and trick people into letting themselves be made into murderers,¡± Hesper and Atesthas both snorted with laughter. ¡°So dramatic,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Murderers,¡± Orson felt his cheeks redden. ¡°Well, you do have to murder people,¡± he said. ¡°In the army,¡± he added. ¡°There¡¯s really not very much murdering,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°I didn¡¯t even see any combat,¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t?¡± Orson frowned at him. ¡°Then what happened to your-?¡± He indicated the captain¡¯s body with a wagging finger. ¡°Plane crash,¡± said Hesper. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t get to fly planes?¡± said Orson. ¡°I wasn¡¯t flying it,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Ah, right.¡± said Orson, blushing more. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t remember.¡± said Atesthas. ¡°I remember getting on the plane and then I woke up in bed wishing I was dead¡± ¡°His plane was shot down,¡± supplied Hesper. ¡°By ?gr?i militants.¡± Atesthas shrugged. ¡°Maybe,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± ¡°Almost certainly,¡± insisted Hesper, ¡°It was right-¡± ¡°Wait,¡± said Orson. ¡°Where were you?¡± ¡°Vu-Murt,¡± ¡°Callisto?¡± Hesper sighed. ¡°Here we go¡­¡±. She turned her attention back to coffee-making; the kettle had boiled. ¡°Sure, yeah.¡± said Atesthas. ¡° Vu-murt, Callisto, whatever you prefer to call it,¡± ¡°It matters, what you call it,¡± said Orson pompously. ¡°You were stationed on Callisto, really?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°What of it?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe you were actually there,¡± said Orson. ¡°Why not? In the army you go where you¡¯re sent. Lots of us went there.¡± ¡°So I¡¯ve heard,¡± said Orson. ¡°Have you heard about how boring it was?¡± asked Atesthas. ¡°How all we did for months, years, was patrol roads and pipelines? We were just security guards with no-one around to guard against. It wasn¡¯t very interesting.¡± ¡°The story I¡¯ve heard is horrific,¡± said Orson with self-righteous pleasure. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you can say it was boring,¡± ¡°Oh, sure,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Lots of guys snapped and killed the rest of their section but that¡¯s a thing that happens everywhere. I think it did happen more often on Vu-Murt than some other places¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m not concerned with squaddies offing each other,¡± said Orson. ¡°Well, I am, of course, that¡¯s terrible too but I¡¯m more concerned with the things you were all there doing to the indigenous people,¡± Hesper groaned. ¡°There aren¡¯t indigenous people, good grief, the only place there were ever indigenous people was on old Earth,¡± ¡°Locals then, Callistoan people.¡± said Orson. ¡°The communities established by the first humans that settled there. You know what I mean,¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t see any,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°No sign at all. No interaction with anyone that I even heard of.¡± ¡°This doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± said Orson. ¡°You were on Callisto and you say you were just a security guard and nothing happened and there was no fighting?¡± said Orson. ¡°And also you say you were on a plane that was shot down by ?gr?i?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t say that,¡± said Atesthas mildly. ¡°That was the official report,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Oh!¡± said Orson. ¡°Well, then it must be true. Even though ?gr?i rebels didn¡¯t have anything that could shoot down a military aircraft¡­¡± Hesper came over to the table with two cups of coffee. She set one down in front of Atesthas. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a military aircraft he was in,¡± she said. ¡°It was a small unarmed civilian plane, flying low. That was how they were able to target it successfully,¡± ¡°How do you know about this?¡± asked Orson, reaching for the other coffee cup. Hesper stepped back and took a sip from it. ¡°It was a very widely-reported incident,¡± she said. ¡°I would have thought that you would know about it, being so interested in the situation on Callisto,¡± ¡°Wait,¡± said Orson. ¡°That was the crash you were in? The one they used as an excuse to start bombing refugee camps near Norov-Ava? That was you? ¡± Atesthas shrugged. ¡°They said all the soldiers in that plane died,¡± ¡°They thought I did die,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°I must have crawled away from the wreckage. Some students found me in the desert and took me to their place. That¡¯s why I was never AWOL. That¡¯s why they never looked for me.¡± ¡°Lucky for him,¡± said Hesper. Orson looked incensed. ¡°So you just walked away from it all, hid, never spoke out or told the truth or anything about a crash that was used to justify bombing thousands of-¡± Hesper swallowed a mouthful of coffee and groaned. ¡°What difference would it make?¡± said Atesthas reasonably. ¡°I appear on some news stream and say, oh, that crash that you say killed six civilians but everybody¡¯s pretty much known for years that it was soldiers, well it was soldiers but actually it killed five and a Daintree executive and I was on the plane too and I survived but I can¡¯t prove any of it. What would that change?¡± Orson shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t have any problem at all with just keeping schtum and walking away from the whole thing?¡± ¡°Like you¡¯re doing, you mean?¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you hand yourself over to authorities to give your account of the riot? ¡°It wasn¡¯t a riot,¡± said Orson. ¡°The riot that led to an entire warehouse of mechs being arrested and then disappeared? Shouldn¡¯t you hand yourself in and say, I was there, here¡¯s what happened?¡± Orson¡¯s face was very red. ¡°It¡¯s hardly the same thing,¡± he said. ¡°I woke up with no idea what was going on, with these strange people who had taken me somewhere I didn¡¯t even know¡­¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± said Atesthas. ¡°And a big gap in your memory and people telling you what happened but it doesn¡¯t seem to make sense and you don¡¯t know if they¡¯re lying to you or if they don¡¯t know what happened either¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s a completely different situation,¡± said Orson. ¡°You can¡¯t make out that what happened to me is the same as what you did. I was just at work and suddenly all this stuff just dropped on top of me out of nowhere.¡± ¡°I was just at work!¡± said Atesthas. ¡°And then suddenly, well, I was the stuff that dropped out of nowhere,¡± ¡°It¡¯s not the same.¡± said Orson. ¡°You had put yourself in that situation,¡± ¡°No I didn¡¯t,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°You go where you¡¯re sent when you¡¯re in the army,¡± ¡°You put yourself into the army,¡± said Orson. ¡°So you des-¡± He paused and corrected himself. ¡°You had to expect things like that to happen,¡± ¡°Just say he deserved it,¡± said Hesper. ¡°We both worked for the same company!¡± said Atesthas. ¡°And I left way before you did. You were still a Daintree employee three...five??... days ago. We were both Daintree employees, just in different departments. You could have easily ended up in the military, too,¡± Hesper and Orson both looked doubtful. ¡°...Nah,¡± said Orson. ¡°Aye, maybe not,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°You should have ended up in the extractive side of things. It¡¯s dead odd that they made you a warehouse worker. How many humans do Daintree put into warehouses as manual handlers?¡± ¡°On Dunbar, just me,¡± said Orson. ¡°Just you!¡± laughed Atesthas. ¡°You didn¡¯t think that was weird?¡± ¡°I thought it was lucky,¡± said Orson. ¡°Extremely lucky,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Or...I¡¯m guessing you¡¯ve got family who levered you in there,¡± Orson shook his head. ¡°No. I would assume that, too, but no. Just luck.¡± ¡°Or a mistake.¡± said Hesper, rolling the coffee cup between her hands. ¡°Or a joke.¡± ¡°That¡¯s still luck.¡± said Orson. ¡°For me,¡± ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as luck.¡± said Hesper.firmly. ¡°Stupid idea. It¡¯s very funny that you say you think you have it, Orson.¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°He made better decisions than me, because he¡¯s a better person. That¡¯s what he really thinks.¡± Orson shook his head. It hurt. He really needed some coffee. ¡°I¡¯ve never made a good decision in my life,¡± he said. ¡°I just like to think that if Daintree had sent me to Callisto to kill the people living there, it wouldn¡¯t have taken almost dying in a plane crash to get me to desert.¡± ¡°You¡¯re giving yourself too much credit,¡± said Hesper. ¡°I said that¡¯s what I like to think.¡± said Orson. ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯d disappoint myself. But we don¡¯t know, ¡®cause I didn¡¯t join the army so I never ended up in that situation. And we do know that that¡¯s what it took for him.¡± Orson looked at Atesthas. Atesthas sipped his coffee. ¡°What I really like to think,¡± said Orson, ¡°Is that I would¡¯ve refused to go in the first place. That¡¯s what I would hope I would do. But I never had to.¡± Chapter 8 ¡°Why are we going to Iapetus?¡± demanded Orson. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go there,¡± ¡°Nobody cares where you do or don¡¯t want to go, Orson.¡± said Hesper. ¡°You¡¯ve probably never been off Dunbar before this week. You should be grateful.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been off Dunbar.¡± said Orson. ¡°I wasn¡¯t born there. I¡¯m from Triton. Well, not Triton but one of the satellites¡­¡± ¡°Which one?¡± ¡°Ruach,¡± Atesthas snorted. ¡°That explains the accent,¡± said Hesper. ¡°I don¡¯t have an accent,¡± said Orson. Hesper nodded at him sincerely. ¡°Right. So Iapetus.¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s a doctor there we¡¯ve used before. A friendly doctor. Somewhat friendly.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t we go to any doctor? Or is it an insurance thing?¡± Atesthas and Hesper both sniggered. Orson scowled at them. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Insurance¡­¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Orson, you¡¯ve seen Atesthas with his shirt off.¡± said Hesper. ¡°You¡¯ve seen the absolute horror show under there,¡± ¡°It¡¯s...not the worst thing I¡¯ve seen,¡± said Orson. ¡°When did he see me with my shirt off?¡± said Atesthas. ¡°It¡¯s very obvious that he used to be in the military and then he left without getting all his hardware properly removed.¡± continued Hesper. ¡° Which means that it¡¯s very obvious he deserted,¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t desert,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°How many times¡­¡± ¡°And also,¡± continued Hesper, ¡°As you¡¯ve noticed by now, all the junk in Atesthas¡¯ body causes certain difficulties,¡± Orson nodded. ¡°Yeah, with anything that...connects to other things,¡± ¡°Which is everything. So no, we can¡¯t just go to any doctor.¡± ¡°I get it,¡± said Orson. ¡°So you know this doctor and she¡¯s safe and whatnot,¡± ¡°She won¡¯t immediately turn either of you over to authorities which is the main thing,¡± said Hesper. ¡°And she needs the work enough to tolerate Atesthas¡¯...special needs. She¡¯s not the best doctor but she can patch him up and tell us what you¡¯ve got inside you. And that¡¯s all we need.¡± ¡°But why does it need to be Iapetus?¡± ¡°We¡¯re not actually going to Iapetus for what it¡¯s worth,¡± said Hesper. ¡°We¡¯re going to Coblentz station,¡± ¡°Which is an Iapetus satellite,¡± groused Orson. ¡°Okay. Just tell me. What is the problem with Iapetus?¡± asked Atesthas. ¡°I had decided to not ask but I¡¯ve got no self-control. Just tell me.¡± Orson opened his mouth to answer but Hesper got in first. ¡°Machine supremacist cheerleaders like Orson here never shut up about Iapetus because they don¡¯t allow any synthetic intelligences there. No artificial life at all, they don¡¯t believe in it.¡± ¡°Ah, right,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°I think I have heard about that. They¡¯re religious weirdos there, huh?¡± ¡°They¡¯re nutters,¡± said Orson. ¡°There¡¯s a large conservative traditional population on Iapetus.¡± said Hesper. ¡°They see artificial life as an affront. So the mech rights crowd think Iapetus should be subjected to mass re-education,¡± ¡°But we¡¯re not actually going there,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°No, we¡¯re going to Coblentz,¡± ¡°Which has the same backwards ignorant culture as Iapetus,¡± said Orson. ¡°If you feel like leaving him there, Captain,¡± said Hesper, ¡°I would be quite happy to forfeit the money we¡¯re hoping to recoup. It would be worth it.¡± In spite of Orson¡¯s protestations the AGMG made its way to Coblentz, a small station off Iapetus. Coblentz was a tourist station, not an industrial estate like Dunbar. Coblentz was the budget option for the thrifty traveller to Iapetus. Cheaper hotels than Iapetus, cheap transport up and down to Iapetus. It was a relatively recent construction but made in a sort of fake ¡®traditional¡¯ style. It was small enough that you just had to walk around everywhere and the streets were all small shops and little stalls selling food and souveniers of Iapetus and Saturn (two locations where you were definitely not located) and general crap. Orson would have been ready to hate it even if they hadn¡¯t had such retrograde cultural attitudes. This was okay though. He was quite relaxed because there was no way this would be the kind of place they¡¯d be able to offload him, despite Hesper¡¯s threats. There was no industry here other than hospitality and selling crap to low-class tourists. He wasn¡¯t thrilled about going to the doctor but it was just for a scan. This was fine. ¡°You¡¯re staying on the ship?¡± said Atesthas. McPhail and Hesper both nodded. ¡°You don¡¯t even want to go get food or anything?¡± ¡°How many times have we been here?¡± said Hesper. ¡°There¡¯s nothing worth leaving the ship for.¡± McPhail nodded in agreement. ¡°And with the captain off the ship, really I should stay so that there¡¯s a senior officer aboard. Although McPhail could go along,¡± McPhail shook his head. ¡°Suit yourselves,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Me and Orson will go and have a really nice time.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Orson will enjoy continuing that lecture he started trying to give you the other night.¡± ¡°I wish I could go,¡± said Pallas. ¡°It looks nice,¡± ¡°It¡¯s not nice,¡± said Orson. ¡°Oh good grief,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Captain, get him out of here before he gets started again.¡± Atesthas grinned. ¡°Come on, Orson, let¡¯s go find out what¡¯s wrong with us. Did you talk to the doc, Hesp?¡± ¡°Of course I did, Captain, she¡¯s expecting you.¡± McPhail opened the door and Atesthas turned to give Hesper a mock salute. ¡°Handing over watch.¡± ¡°You are relieved,¡± said Hesper. ¡°Have fun,¡± Orson remembered to check his pockets for factors before he stepped out. He found one in his jacket and one in his trousers and tossed them back towards McPhail. ¡°Stay here, little guys.¡± he said. ¡°The barbarians here would think you¡¯re satanic, it¡¯s not safe.¡± Orson wouldn¡¯t have admitted it, but he found Coblentz to be quite nice. There was something he kind of liked about the fake rustic patina of everything. He had to keep reminding himself that it was a hellhole and everybody here wanted to eliminate synthetic life from the universe. He kept seeing food he wanted to try but Atesthas wouldn¡¯t let him. ¡°After the doctor,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°You¡¯re about to have an abdominal scan, you can¡¯t go in with your belly full. You can try all the weird snacks you want to afterwards.¡± They walked along narrow winding little streets. The ceilings were all painted like the sky- presumably what the sky on Iapetus looked like, with a view of Saturn¡¯s rings. Orson didn¡¯t want to like it but his taste was so horrendous, he couldn¡¯t help it. He and Atesthas were about the only young-ish people on the station it seemed. The place was absolutely crammed with middle-aged-to-elderly tourists all livecasting their stupid holidays to their message-groups and trying to find the very worst snow-globe imaginable. Since Atesthas couldn¡¯t use a handheld Orson was the navigator. This was unfortunate. Almost no street went walked only once. There was a lot of backtracking and circling. There was a fountain they kept accidentally finding their way back to: Orson was quite taken with it the first time but after they¡¯d unintentionally encountered it another few times it became a very unwelcome sight. ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± gurned Orson. ¡°You¡¯re a ship captain, aren¡¯t you supposed to be able to navigate without any technology? Like using the stars?¡± ¡°I can,¡± said Atesthas unconvincingly. ¡°Doesn¡¯t work when the sky is painted on, though,¡± ¡°Excuses,¡± said Orson. ¡°What¡¯s yours?¡± said Atesthas. ¡°You¡¯ve got a handheld, you¡¯re looking at a map.¡± ¡°These streets are not well labelled,¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t we try down there?¡± suggested Atesthas, looking around. They were drawing some odd looks. Atesthas was wearing pretty much just pyjamas (he said he refused to get dressed properly when he was feeling poorly) and had two black eyes from his clearly broken nose. Orson was wearing his usual hi-vis work gear. They didn¡¯t look like tourists. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve been along that street before. It¡¯s worth a try, come on.¡± Orson followed Atesthas across the public square and down one of the corridor-streets. This one was particularly narrow. It had been made so that the upper floors of the buildings hung out over the ground levels. You could probably reach out of a second-storey window and tap on the window of the house across the street. Orson really didn¡¯t want to like it but he couldn¡¯t resist. It was so- godammit- charming. Maybe he wouldn¡¯t mind if Hesper did ditch him on this backwards fascist hellhole of a station. ¡°Here it is.¡± said Atesthas, pointing into shadowed alcove with a flight of stairs disappearing up into complete darkness. ¡°Dr Elise Westenberg MD and alternative therapy practitioner, that¡¯s her. I thought I recognised this street,¡± ¡°No you didn¡¯t,¡± said Orson. ¡°Alternative?¡± ¡°It says MD, she¡¯s a real doctor too,¡± Atesthas went through the alcove and started bounding up the stairs. Orson followed him slowly. He used his handheld as a torch to light the dark staircase. Atesthas clattered away above him. Maybe he had augmented eyes so he could see in low light, that seemed like the kind of thing they would give soldiers. Orson looked at the address on the screen: 4/6, did that mean it was on the 4th floor or the 6th? Either way, too many floors. Orson kept trudging up until he walked into Atesthas. ¡°Hey!¡± said the captain. ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± The door Atesthas knocked on was answered minutes later by a tall, skinny older woman with greying brown hair. ¡°Hello, Captain Allan,¡± she greeted Atesthas. ¡°Hi, Dr Westenberg,¡± Orson thought it was a bad sign that the doctor answered her own door. Weren¡¯t doctors supposed to have receptionists? ¡°Call me Elise, Captain, I¡¯ve told you before. And this must be Orson. A new crewmate?¡± Orson opened his mouth to reply but Atesthas answered ¡°Yeah, looks like it.¡± Dr Westenberg gave Orson a long look. ¡°Good.¡±she said. ¡°Well, come on in.¡± They all stepped into the doctor¡¯s waiting-room-slash-sitting-room. The doctor saw Atesthas in the light and clocked his black eyes. ¡°Another broken nose, Captain?¡± ¡°If that¡¯s your diagnosis.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve had enough of them to self-diagnose. What do you need me to look at?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got a couple of things,¡± ¡°Okay. And Orson, you want a scan to see what¡¯s in there?¡± Orson nodded. ¡°But we don¡¯t want to know the sex,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°So don¡¯t ruin the surprise.¡± Orson waited in the sitting-room while Dr Westenberg examined Atesthas. The room was lined with shelves floor to ceiling. All kinds of nick-nacks and junk all over them. Several books, maybe as many as twenty. Orson had never seen so many books. The doctor must be rich. This made Orson feel a little more confident in her medical abilities, which he supposed was the point of displaying a collection of books in your waiting-room. Everything was dark and cosy. There was one overhead light, not very bright, and sconces here and there at just-above-Orson¡¯s-head height. No light got in through the small window that looked out over the street. Orson hoped it wasn¡¯t completely unacceptable to have a nosy at the books while he waited. Whatever the doctor was doing to Atesthas was taking so long and Orson knew he would start to fall asleep if he stayed sitting in the comfy chair. He got up and started looking around at the shelves. He decided that the doctor wouldn¡¯t leave the books out within the reach of idiots if she really didn¡¯t want to have idiots like him touching them. All the books were either very specific and technical looking medical books or they were hokum about crystals and auras and stuff. Orson rather wanted to look at one of the silly ones because he knew it would annoy him in just the way that he liked to be annoyed. He was too afraid that the doctor would come out and see him reading it and think that he was sincerely interested, though. He left them alone. He chose a book about common mining injuries that had lots of pictures. Orson horrified himself pleasantly for a while until he remembered that he might have to go and do some mining himself soon. Then it stopped being pleasant. Orson put that book away. He selected one about infections and rejection of neurological adjuncts. Orson didn¡¯t have a neural adjunct. He flicked through the horrendous images smugly enjoying the knowledge that he did not have a neural adjunct. He felt a little bit sick. ¡°Right then,¡± said Dr Westenberg, suddenly appearing round one of the bookcases.. ¡°Let¡¯s have a look at you.¡± Orson felt a nervous lurch in his bowels though he wasn¡¯t exactly sure why. He put a polite smile on his face and followed her into her treatment room. After the busy clutter of the doctor¡¯s sitting-room, her completely stark and clinical treatment room was a welcome surprise to Orson. If he was ever receiving medical attention he wanted it on be on a plastic-coated adjustable bed and under glaring icy white lights. ¡°Captain Allan explained somewhat,¡± said the doctor. ¡°But why don¡¯t you tell me what the situation is here.¡± It sounded like a demand rather than a suggestion. ¡°Well,¡± said Orson, ¡°I work for- I mean, I used to work for- Daintree,¡± He paused to see if there was going to be any response to that. Apparently not. The doctor just looked at him. He continued. ¡°You probably know, they use some of their employees- their human employees- to grow organs and other body parts inside, like skin and stuff,¡± Dr Westenberg nodded, looking impatient already. ¡°Yes, yes. So you¡¯re such an employee,¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± ¡°So what seems to be the problem?¡± ¡°No problem,¡± said Orson, ¡°That I know of. We just want to know what¡¯s in here.¡± Orson placed his hands on his belly. The doctor stared. ¡°You don¡¯t know what¡¯s in there?¡± ¡°Mm-hm. No.¡± ¡°Did you not ask? Or did they not answer?¡± Orson shrugged. ¡°I asked once, maybe. And they said something about anonymity or privacy or something like that,¡± The doctor looked at him, ¡°Because it¡¯s to do with...a medical issue,¡± he added. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± said Dr Westenberg. ¡°...No.¡± ¡°It¡¯s probably more to do with them not wanting you to know what you¡¯re carrying so that you won¡¯t start thinking too carefully about how much it could be sold for. And to whom.¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± The doctor picked up a scanning wand with a screen slightly smaller than a handheld attached to it. She turned it on and started fiddling about with it. She leaned in close to Orson, not looking at him. ¡°You know,¡± she said in a low voice, ¡°There¡¯s a back entrance that can be accessed from in here. If you wanted to, I think you could leave alone that way instead of with Captain Allan.¡± She was looking down at the scanner. ¡°Pull up your clothing, would you?¡± she said, more loudly. ¡°To expose your tummy,¡± Orson unzipped his jacket and pulled his hoodie up over his belly. ¡°Do you...think I should?¡± he asked quietly. ¡°That¡¯s entirely up to you,¡±said the doctor. ¡°Pull up the vest as well. Thank you. It seems as though Captain Allan and his friends are hoping to sell you for parts, doesn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the plan, sort of,¡± said Orson. There were a couple of different ways that could play out. Orson hadn¡¯t wanted to press Hesper for specifics about what she intended to do with him. ¡°You seem resigned to that and I admire your stoicism,¡± said Dr Westenberg. ¡°But...if you¡¯d prefer not to stick with their plan, I¡¯m just saying. There¡¯s an exit route.¡± Orson nodded slowly. The doctor looked into his eyes very hard, unblinking, for a little too long. ¡°Right, then,¡± she said. ¡°Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got inside,¡± The doctor placed the scanning wand over Orson¡¯s belly and moved it around, frowning down at it. ¡°Hmm...she said. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound good,¡± said Orson. He did a nervous laugh. ¡°I think you¡¯ve been lied to.¡± said Dr Westenberg. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like you¡¯ve got extra organs in there. In fact, you¡¯ve got one...yes, you¡¯ve only got one kidney,¡± ¡°Huh,¡± said Orson. ¡°So what is in here? Am I just fat?¡± ¡°Oh, you are fat,¡± said the doctor. ¡°But there is something in there. I just don¡¯t know what-¡± She paused. She moved the scanner very slowly back and forth over one area for a moment or two. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Get out.¡± she said. ¡°Now. Out!¡± She gesticulated towards the door with the scanner. ¡°Get out of my office! GO!¡± Alarmed, Orson slid off the table and started to back away from her. She looked as though she might hit him with the scanner. ¡°GET OUT!¡± she screeched, brandishing it. ¡°Wha-what¡¯s going on?¡± said Orson, backing towards the door. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Get out!¡± she yelled. ¡°OUT! OUT!¡± Orson scrabbled at the door handle blindly while trying to keep turned towards the lunatic doctor. ¡°It¡¯s a bomb!¡± she shrieked at him. ¡°You came in here with a BOMB inside you!¡± The door opened from outside, pushing Orson in towards her. She screamed and swiped at him. ¡°Get out! Get off this station! NOW!¡± ¡°Hey, hey,¡± said Atesthas, squeezing in behind Orson. ¡°What¡¯s this about a bomb?¡± ¡°Get him out of here! Both of you! You brought a bomb onto this station!¡± Atesthas and Orson backed out of the room. The doctor pushed the door shut and yelled through it at them. ¡°I¡¯m calling the bomb in right now so you¡¯d be wise to get yourselves back to your ship as fast as you can. Right now, Allan,¡± ¡°Are-¡± said Atesthas. He turned up his volume to a yell to match Dr Westenberg. ¡°ARE YOU SURE?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Orson looked around at Atesthas, eyes wide. ¡°Do you think?¡± Atesthas shrugged helplessly. ¡°How the hell would I know?¡± ¡°She seems serious,¡± said Orson. ¡°We have to act like she is, anyway.¡± said Atesthas. ¡°If she calls it in this whole place locks down and we¡¯re stuck here.¡± ¡°Then let¡¯s go!¡± said Orson. They started barging out through the sitting-room. Orson knocked over one of the nice little chairs. ¡°Aargh!¡± he yelled, stumbling. ¡°Careful,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°We¡¯ll be slower if you break your leg,¡± ¡°How long have we got?¡± asked Orson. ¡°Depends how long it takes her to convince station command that she¡¯s not a nutter.¡± Atesthas started undoing the locks on the front door. ¡°From the time they decide to take her seriously, maybe two minutes,¡± Orson dropped to his knees and started working on the lower locks. Between them they got the door open and out and started running down the stairs. ¡°Hesper!¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Tell her what¡¯s going on,¡± said Atesthas. ¡°Call Hesper! Now!,¡± ---------- Aboard the AGMG all was perfect idyll. McPhail was in the hangar tattooing himself. Pallas was on the flight deck watching her livecasters. Hesper was painting her quarters. The pale sea-foam green had been depressing her for about a year now and at long last she¡¯d gotten this bit of down-time to get rid of it. She¡¯d picked up some nice orangey-red paint months ago and now some of McPhail¡¯s factors were busy moving it from the tins onto her walls. Hesper was supervising the little menaces, meaning she was browsing for coffee tables on her handheld and idly playing with herself. The factors didn¡¯t really need much supervising. They admittedly were extremely competent. McPhail had whinged when Hesper asked to use his highly sophisticated scientific imaging and surveying equipment to paint her bedroom but he couldn¡¯t talk. He was the one who got them to do things like hang up the washing and trim his toenails. Hesper didn¡¯t want to really piss McPhail off, though, so she had tied a clear plastic bag around each of the little machines so they wouldn¡¯t get paint on themselves. They were being very diligent about keeping themselves clean. Whenever one of them tore its plastic baggie (by snagging on something or poking one of its appendages through) it would present itself to her immediately to be put into a fresh bag. Hesper was looking at a very baroque white coffee-table and considering replacing all of her furniture to match when her handheld popped up a box over the photo of the coffee-table and asked her if she wanted to answer a call? Because there was one coming through from Orson. Hesper did not want to answer but she groaned and hit ¡®accept¡¯ anyway. At first Hesper couldn¡¯t understand a word Orson was saying. The connection was awful, Orson was speaking very quickly and his accent came through much more strongly when he was agitated and talking fast. Also he was very out-of-breath and sounded like he was trying to run at the same time. Hesper just hung up on him immediately and sent a message to appear in bold text: TALK SLOWER. He called back. ¡°Is this better now?¡± ¡°Much.¡± Hesper copied McPhail in on the call because it was going to be extremely annoying and it would make it marginally less annoying if McPhail had to be annoyed by it too. And why should only her nice day be ruined by Orson? McPhail should have to have his pleasant private time absolutely wrecked, too. It was terrible right off the bat. ¡°The doctor called in a bomb scare,¡± said Orson. Hesper almost just hung up on him right there. Why was a ¡®for later, if we have time,¡¯ question. ¡°So the station will lock down soon?¡± she asked. ¡°Yeah,¡± said Orson after some heavy breathing. ¡°How long?¡± said Hesper. ¡°Ask Atesthas.¡± There was some muffled talking. ¡°He reckons three minutes?¡± ¡°You getting this, McPhail?¡± asked Hesper and received a grunt in reply. ¡°Have you got them?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± ¡°Are they...more than three minutes away?¡± ¡°If they run? Atesthas, probably not. Orson, definitely,¡± ¡°Great.¡± said Hesper. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll get the ship ready. You get your trainers on,¡± ¡°Ha, ha. Can you tell your little horrors to stow all the paint? I don¡¯t want it all over my carpet if you have to make a very sharp exit.¡± Hesper noticed that all the factors seemed to have stopped painting to pay attention to the conversation. They were all hovering with paintbrushes dangling, turned towards her. ¡°They got it,¡± said McPhail. Hesper realised Orson had been saying something while she was talking to McPhail. No matter. Very unlikely that it was important. ¡°Come on!¡± urged Atesthas. ¡°Faster! We need to get out of here!¡± Orson knew that they had to get out. He was already going about as fast as he could. Atesthas was motoring, almost running but keeping it to a walk so they wouldn¡¯t look too obviously like they were trying to get away from- ¡°Oh, no...¡± said Atesthas. He had turned around to urge Orson on. He turned back away quickly, putting his head down. ¡°Orson. Come on. Right now. Quick. Quick,¡± ¡°Is there someone coming?¡± Atesthas didn¡¯t look back again. ¡°Here. Follow me,¡± he said. ¡°Stay close. Don¡¯t look, they¡¯re behind you. Down here-¡± The doctor must have sounded convincing because Coblentz station control had already scrambled security to hunt down Orson and Atesthas. It didn¡¯t make sense to Orson. If he had a bomb inside him, wouldn¡¯t they want him to get away from the station as quickly as possible? This was going to make it take longer for them to get back to the AGMG. Especially if the station got locked down. Trying to move through the Coblentz streets had been difficult enough before. Now they were trying to do it quickly and surreptitiously and that was impossible. Atesthas swerved down an alleyway leading off the main strip. Orson tried to follow, starting to panic as a stream of people blocked his path through the entrance. Ahead, Orson saw Atesthas put the brakes on suddenly, pivot and start coming back towards him. Without looking at Orson, he said ¡°Just get back to the ship. Go. Go now,¡± and he shoulder-barged Orson as he passed. Orson went. Orson¡¯s handheld was very helpfully showing him a map with a bright yellow line leading back to the AGMG. He heard shouts behind him but he managed to not look. ¡°Okay,¡± said Atesthas. To himself but out loud. ¡°Okay, fine. Come and give me a beating if that¡¯s what we¡¯re doing.¡± ¡°Who the hell is that?¡± one of the security finks asked another. He got a shrug in reply. ¡°It¡¯s not you we¡¯re after,¡± one of the guys- maybe the team leader, he had a white armband on that the others didn¡¯t- explained helpfully. ¡°It¡¯s the fat guy we want,¡± ¡°Don¡¯t we all?¡± said Athesthas. He was passing a stall selling various shiny brass household objects. Was there anything vaguely weapon-like? There was: he grabbed some sort of decorative poking implement and gave it an experimental swing around. It wasn¡¯t really heavy enough that he could imagine doing much damage with it. He threw it at one of the security guys. The guy had been looking away, distracted by an ice-cream shop on the other side of the street. The poking-thing cracked into the top of his plastic shield and sort of flipped over the top and bopped him on the forehead. He screamed and ducked. Atesthas frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that was supposed to mean,¡± he said. ¡°It means we¡¯re gonna tear you apart, weirdo,¡± said one of the guards. ¡°We just wanted the fat guy but now we get to paralyse you first.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t even know who you are,¡± added another one. ¡°That¡¯s fine, I don¡¯t know who you are either,¡± said Atesthas. He was looking for a weightier poking implement. He rummaged in a metal bucket of fireplace tools and picked up two promising-looking candidates, two decorative but reasonably heavy metal rods, one in each hand. ¡°Come on, then, let¡¯s get to know each other.¡± He posed a little bit with the tools. ¡°I feel like if you really wanted to hurt me you¡¯d be doing it by now,¡± he said, flexing. ¡°We don¡¯t even know who you are!¡± groaned the team leader. Back on the AGMG, Pallas pointed at the street view on the screen. ¡°Look there,¡± she told McPhail. ¡°The others are following Orson now.¡± McPhail grunted. Orson slipped down an alleyway off the main street, trying to remember anything he¡¯d ever seen or heard about how to lose someone who was tailing you. He...couldn¡¯t. All he could think about was how there was allegedly a bomb in his belly and how slow he was going and how scary the guys who were chasing him looked. He wondered what had happened to Atesthas. For about a second. The thought crossed his mind and then he realised that he didn¡¯t really care. All he cared about was getting himself back to the ship. Why couldn¡¯t it come and get him? What was the point of having a ship if you didn¡¯t move it, didn¡¯t fly it about? Why should he have to go to it? It was infuriating. Orson crossed the street quickly and dodged down another small alleyway. Just as he crossed into the dim passage a siren suddenly blared from somewhere above him. He got such a shock he missed a step and stumbled. At that moment a shutter slammed down behind him, sealing the entrance he had just come through. They were locking everything down. Of course they were, because of the bomb scare. He¡¯d been hearing the sirens from behind him for a few minutes without really registering what the warning was. If he heard one in front of him, that was as far as he was going. Atesthas didn¡¯t get hit directly but a chunk of flying concrete from the impact caught his right forearm. It was hard enough to twist him around and it was hard enough to partially tear out a bit of the hardwear from his arm. Grunting, he ripped it the rest of the way out and threw it at the guy who had swung a hammer into the wall. The security guy got hit in the face with a flying chunk of metal trailing streamers of skin and wet red stringy stuff. ¡°Thank you!¡± yelled Atesthas. ¡°Thank you very much! I want all this crap out of me so- argh, hey! Wait!¡± Some other fink, not waiting for Atesthas to finish whinging, had grabbed him from behind and started strangling him. Orson started hustling faster, puffing, fat little legs burning. Orson lived on a station, he knew how these things worked. They had drills a few times a year and actual triggers of the lockdown system a lot more frequently than anybody liked. Anything vaguely threatening a hull breach would activate the securing of the entire station into multiple pressure-sealed compartments. This meant that cocky or stressed-out pilots making crash-stops could lock the whole station down for hours just by screaming up to the station too fast. Orson had never minded it terribly when there was a lock-down. He was always either at work or in his flat, both of which places had food and drinks and a bathroom which was about all Orson needed to be content. Lockdowns made other people very upset, though. They were a perennial issue at station council meetings. Many people enthusiastically promoted the idea of making the whole system far less sensitive so that it wouldn¡¯t activate so frequently. Maybe changing the way the station assessed risk and perceived threats to itself. Maybe making the station just chill out a bit. Maybe even making it so that it took a measurable pressure drop to initiate a lockdown. Far fewer people, hesitantly, usually anonymously, suggested that if human-piloted delivery ships weren¡¯t on such unforgiving schedules, maybe if the margins weren¡¯t quite so tight, maybe if the pilots weren¡¯t so heavily penalised for late deliveries, then they would be able to apply their brakes a little further out from the station and not approach with the attitude of missiles and make the station pee its pants a little. They compared the way human-piloted ships approached the station (alarming) to the way machine ships (unhurried) flew up to make their deliveries. But anyway. This wasn¡¯t a drill, it was a real situation, and- even worse- Orson was the situation. He needed to get up, he needed to get up further levels towards the deck. He needed to find a lift, stairs, escalator- okay, a lift- before anything else got sealed off. Scanning around desperately he noticed a sign that seemed like it might be hinting at a lift. He started waddling towards it as fast as he could. He was just a few metres from what was starting to look like another alleyway- one that was still open, please, still be open. It looked like it was. He was just starting to turn to go through when he caught something moving from the corner of his eye. Something was...sliding up beside him. He spun around to see, turning so his back was to the wall. There was what looked like a floating black eyeball staring at him from just a few feet away. It slid closer to him. It had a glowing red circle for an iris. Orson didn¡¯t notice the little sound he made as he stared at the thing. Oh no no no don¡¯t stop me go away go away go away The eye glided closer to him and he panicked. There was a street-sweeper¡¯s cart standing abandoned outside the nearest shop and Orson grabbed for the first thing he saw with a long-looking handle. He grabbed, pulled and swung and to his amazement slammed the eyeball right into the wall. The eye shattered into pieces. With a thrill of excitement Orson ran for the alleyway entrance, keeping a hold of the shovel he¡¯d just acquired. Two more of the black eyeball things dropped down in front of him and Orson skidded to a stop. He swung for the eyes and they both flew straight at his face. ¡°Aaaargh!¡± he yelled, ducking. The man in charge of the street-sweeping cart whose shovel Orson had misappropriated was sitting nearby in a shop window, taking a quick break. His name was Urek. With the sirens going off Urek had a feeling that his short break might become a longer break. He was probably about to be locked into this area of the station for a while. Fine by him. Urek was on his handheld, trying to find out what was going on. He wondered if it was anything to do with this fat weirdo who had just nicked his shovel. The guy looked like a workie of some sort, a labourer maybe or someone off a cargo ship. He seemed to be having a fight with a flock of small flying machines. Maybe he was trying to abscond and drones had been sent to get him back. You did hear about people trying to run away from debt management agency jobs sometimes. Maybe the guy thought this was the kind of station where you could apply for asylum from those kind of agencies. This was not that kind of station. Coblentz was the kind of station where if you tried to run away from the cargo ship transporting you to a labour camp where you were about to spend the next four years digging foundations for accomodation blocks to house more workers like you who had defaulted on their student loans or medical debt, they would lock the place down and call out security to find you and drag you back to your ship. Speaking of which, it looked like the station needed more security to deal with the current situation. Urek¡¯s employment program, HustleManager, was alerting him that he could earn 2.50 more an hour to work as station security than as a station street sweeper. The offer was for today only and it expired in the next ten minutes. Would Urek like to quit his current job and start immediately as a station security officer? All he had to do was click ¡®accept¡¯ and HustleManager would take care of everything, including finding a new medical insurance plan for the day that would cover his now slightly reduced risk of injury (street sweeping was more hazardous than policing, mostly because street sweepers didn¡¯t get body armour and a nightstick). ¡°Settle!¡± ordered one of the eyeballs in a familiar voice. It was hovering just by his head, clutching his shovel with a little arm that had unfolded from its side. ¡°It¡¯s McPhail. McPhail. Why are you trying to kill my factors?¡± Orson looked warily at the flying eyeballs. ¡°The lights aren¡¯t usually red,¡± he said. ¡°I didn¡¯t recognise them,¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying to help you, idiot.¡± ¡°I panicked.¡± said Orson. ¡°It was being scary. And I really need to go-¡± ¡°Not until you pick that up¡± Orson looked behind him. ¡°Are you kidding?¡± Urek was currently still a street-cleaner so he was clearing up the remains of the robot that the fat guy had smashed all over the pavement. He thought he probably ought to turn the pieces in to station command. The robot had talked, he¡¯d heard it. Urek suspected that 1) the fat guy had something to do with the current emergency situation and 2) the machines he had with him were illegal intelligent machines. So Urek was sweeping up the robot parts and putting them into a small plastic bag instead of dumping them into the bin on his cleaning cart. He was concentrating on his careful sweeping but he became aware of someone sidling up nearby. He looked up reluctantly. It was the workie. Urek was immediately a little nervous. The guy was short and round but he had looked pretty strong when he killed this robot thing and it seemed like he might be involved in something dodgy. Urek tilted his head curiously. ¡°Yes?¡± The highly visible guy seemed anxious. ¡°Can I get that bag of...stuff off of you, please?¡± he asked. ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°The, uh¡­,¡± The fat guy pointed at the bag of machine crumbs. ¡°The stuff in the bag. Could I have it, please? This will seem strange but I know the guy who owned that flying thing, the guy who was...remote-controlling it, and he¡¯s really pissed off with me for smashing his toy. He wants the bits and pieces back.¡± Urek considered. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Oh, he says maybe some of the parts will be re-useable,¡± said the fat workman. ¡°But honestly?¡± He leaned towards Urek conspiratorially. ¡°I think it¡¯s just ¡®cause he¡¯s angry with me. He wants to make me pick up all the parts myself.¡± Urek was pretty sure the guy was lying but he didn¡¯t really care. If he gave the bag of stuff to him then it was out of his hands and he didn¡¯t have to trouble himself with taking it over to station command. ¡°Sure,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll be able to do anything with it, but here-¡± Urek gave the plastic bag a little shake to settle the crap into the bottom and closed the seal along the top, pressing the air gently out of the bag. The fat guy looked pleased, face brightening. ¡°Thanks, man.¡± he said. ¡°He might not kill me now, just hurt me a bit. This is really going to help, seriously.¡± Urek went to hand the bag over to the workie but just at that moment Hustlemanager sent him an alert over his neural. His insurance had just been confirmed and he was now cleared to stop working as a street cleaner and start his shift as a station security operative. Urek snatched back the bag of evidence and tucked it securely into one of the pockets on his bodywarmer. The fat suspect¡¯s face fell. ¡°What are you doing? I thought you said I could have that?¡± ¡°You can have it,¡± said Urek, ¡°Once station command have examined it and determined that it¡¯s legal for you to have on this station. I¡¯ll take you to station command justnow.¡± ¡°No,¡± said Orson. ¡°I don¡¯t have time, I need to go,¡± ¡°You can¡¯t leave while the station is under an emergency lock-down. There¡¯s been an alert put out about a man matching your description that station command want to talk to. I¡¯ll take you over to station command and you can ask about keeping your broken factor and see if you¡¯re the perp- if you¡¯re the person they¡¯re looking for.¡± ¡°I really don¡¯t have time,¡± insisted Orson. ¡°The sooner station command find their man the sooner they¡¯ll lift the emergency status.¡± said Urek. ¡°If you assist them with their enquiries you can help yourself to get away faster,¡± He stepped closer to Orson and reached out to take his wrist. ¡°Come on, I¡¯ll take you,¡± he said. One of McPhail¡¯s factors did something to the panel by the door and the indicator light changed from red to green. The doorway opened into complete blackness. The factors flew through the doorway and vanished. On the other side could be anything, thought Orson. It could be literally nothing. He had grown up on small stations. He knew that you didn¡¯t just walk through a door that could lead into a void. Out of atmosphere, out of pressure. On the other side of the doorway the factors lit up like little lanterns, flaring their ring-lights to illuminate the void. It was just a corridor, full of what seemed perfectly breathable air and puddles of fluff on the ground and nothing else. ¡°Just follow them,¡± said McPhail through the factors. ¡°Nearly there.¡± Orson nodded and gave the factor under his hand a slight squeeze. The door slid shut behind them as they entered the corridor. ¡°Can probably chuck the shovel,¡± said McPhail. ¡°Don¡¯t want to,¡± said Orson. ¡°It¡¯s covered in blood,¡± said McPhail. ¡°Looks suspicious,¡± ¡°I¡¯m with three flying robots also covered in blood, I don¡¯t think ditching the shovel would make that much difference,¡± ¡°We could pretend the factors are arresting you if anyone comes along,¡± said McPhail. ¡°Unless you want another fight?¡± Orson sighed and put the shovel down, leaning it against the wall. He really didn¡¯t. ¡°Do you think we killed that guy back there?¡± he asked quietly as he followed the factors. ¡°No,¡± said McPhail through the machines. ¡°I think you killed him,¡± ¡°Really?¡± gasped Orson, horrified. ¡°You think-¡± ¡°No!¡± scoffed McPhail. ¡°Don¡¯t be daft..¡± ¡°Don¡¯t say things like that,¡± grumbled Orson. ¡°I don¡¯t want to kill anybody,¡± ¡°Hopefully you won¡¯t,¡± said McPhail. ¡°Okay, just on the right there should be a ladder¡­¡± ¡°Noooo¡­¡± groaned Orson. On the AGMG¡¯s flight deck McPhail and Pallas were sitting in the pilots¡¯ seats, staring at the displays on the console. They barely looked around as Orson staggered in. ¡°Got that factor you broke?¡± asked McPhail. Orson gasped for breath, leaning in the doorway. ¡°Are you okay?¡± asked Pallas. ¡°He¡¯s fine, he just had to do some exercise,¡± said McPhail. Orson glowered and gasped. ¡°You weren¡¯t even running,¡± said Pallas. Orson wanted to say something about not commenting on other people¡¯s aerobic fitness when you didn¡¯t even have to breathe but he was too out-of-breath. ¡°I meant about the bomb,¡± said Pallas. ¡°Oh, yeah¡­¡± said Orson. He¡¯d forgotten about that. ¡°You¡¯re not concerned,¡± said McPhail. Orson looked up at him, hands on his knees as he tried to get his breath back. ¡°I dunno,¡± he said. ¡°Should get...a second opinion.¡± ¡°A second opinion?¡± asked McPhail. ¡°You don¡¯t believe Dr Westenberg?¡± ¡°She has...books about...crystals,¡± panted Orson. He pushed himself out of the doorway and started crossing the deck towards them. ¡°Where¡¯s the factor?¡± asked McPhail again. Orson fished the plastic bag out of the side pocket of his shorts and resisted the urge to throw it at McPhail. He handed it to the other man as he walked up to the console. McPhail took the bag casually and sat it on the console. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± asked Orson, looking at the screen. ¡°We¡¯re watching Captain Allan fight,¡± said Pallas. Orson leaned on the console, breathing heavily. On the display screen he could see a small figure in pyjamas- Atesthas, presumably- hitting a navy blue-clad helmeted figure with a clear plastic shield. Another navy blue helmet guy was punching Atesthas. Atesthas swung the shield around and knocked him over with it. ¡°Is anyone... going to...help him?¡± asked Orson. ¡°Hesper¡¯s en-route,¡± said McPhail. ¡°She smelled a punch-up,¡± On the screen Orson could see Atesthas was fighting with three- no, four- of seven guards that had been chasing. The other three were lying on the ground. ¡°Whoa,¡± said Orson. He pointed at the screen. ¡°What?¡± McPhail grunted. ¡°Captain fried them. Must have adjuncts¡± Orson thought about the pictures he¡¯d seen in the doctor¡¯s book about neural adjunct maladies and cringed. Atesthas appeared to have gotten a couple of side-handle batons off of the guards and he was laying into them with gusto. ¡°Guess he can... take care...of himself,¡± ¡°Hm,¡± said McPhail. One of the security guys cracked Atesthas on the side of the knee and suddenly he was on the ground with them all piling on top of him. ¡°Oh,¡± said Orson. ¡°Good try, though,¡± Just then a bulky, fast-moving figure barrelled into frame and straight into the pile of struggling men. ¡°Oh, good, Hesper!¡± said Orson. One of the security guys was flung horizontally out of the scrum like a flying starfish. Another one suddenly started having a seizure, body going rigid. ¡°Tried to use a taser¡± remarked McPhail. Hesper hauled Atesthas up off the ground with one hand while using the other to hold off a security nark who seemed enthusiastic to fight with one or both of them. Once Atesthas had his feet under him Hesper let go of the enthusiastic guy and left him to attack Atesthas while she dived into a couple of fast-approaching shields. Atesthas grabbed the guy¡¯s arm one-handed, pulled him in and slammed the heel of his hand into the guy¡¯s chin. Then he kicked the guy¡¯s feet out from under him. He hit the ground like a pallet of bricks. Atesthas swung around with his fists back up, ready for the next one. Orson was not impressed, because violence was not cool. ¡°Who would...win..in a fight...between Hesper and...Atesthas?¡± asked Orson, gazing fascinated as the two of them laid waste to the unfortunate security guards despatched to arrest them. ¡°The record is 7 to 5 Hesper¡¯s way,¡± said Pallas. McPhail nodded slowly. ¡°Atesthas¡¯s faster, Hesper¡¯s got the edge strength wise and she¡¯s got the advantage of not being a complete idiot,¡± ¡°Atesthas has...military¡­.training, though,¡± ¡°So does Hesper,¡± said McPhail. ¡°She did...like...officer...training,¡± said Orson. ¡°Atesthas was...a...soldier,¡± ¡°You give the military too much credit.¡± said McPhail. ¡°Actually training the grunts would take time and effort. They just graft a bunch of scrap onto them and shove a bypass in their head so that they can tell the guys¡¯ bodies what to do without their stupid brains getting in the way.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± said Orson. ¡°And all Atesthas¡¯ military stuff is-¡± ¡°Wrecked,¡± said McPhail. Atesthas was slumped on the floor in a broken-looking heap. ¡°I think they¡¯re done,¡± said Pallas. There were seven uniformed bodies strewn about on the ground. ¡°Does this happen a lot?¡± Orson asked. ¡°Hesper having to save the Captain, I mean?¡± ¡°Not really,¡± said McPhail.¡°When is the last time Atesthas was in a fight?¡± he asked Pallas. The robot considered the question. ¡°Do you mean like with someone who was trying to arrest him or someone he was trying to make friends with?¡± Hesper hauled Atesthas to his feet. Atesthas threw up. People watched warily but kept their distance. They could tell that it was nothing they wanted to get involved in. Hesper looked up into the camera of the factor that had been filming them. ¡°You¡¯d better be ready to move when we get back,¡± she said. ¡°And if Orson made it back to the ship he¡¯d better be in storage underneath. I don¡¯t want whatever he¡¯s got inside him on board. You hear me?¡± ¡°I hear you,¡± said McPhail. ¡°What?¡± said Orson.