by Kate Rauner
Liam let his pad spin away as he caught Drew's shoulders. "Whoa, there. What's this?"
"The cohorts' bags. This one's from Robotics. There's a memory bar inside."
Tyra left her perch on the coffee counter, floated above them and snagged Drew's collar to position herself. "Are these the missing files?"
"I was hoping you'd tell me."
Medics sharing Liam's table slid bags off Drew's arms and read the stenciled names.
Erik settled a bag in his lap and poked through the contents without pulling anything out. "These should be returned to their barracks leaders, don't you think?"
"Cohorts haven't spent time in barracks for years," Liam said. "Had residential offices on Earth, like you medics have in clinics."
"My barracks leader kept my bed available for me," Erik said. "For holidays or when I had a day off. It didn't matter how long between visits, I belonged to my unit."
Liam looked thoughtful. "It's a nice break to be back with your mates, just one of the guys."
The entire crew had drifted over while they talked and hovered around the table. Another medic balanced against Eric's seatback. "There's a saying, isn't there? Your barracks is a place where they have to take you in."
Liam's heavy brows crouched over his eyes. "Sad now, what's going on in the colony. How many Kin sleep in the furnace dome? Do you know, Drew? None of the cameras are working there."
Tyra, still hanging on to Drew's collar, huffed. "I won't be joining my old unit. I'm a shuttle pilot now. I belong onboard the Herschel."
Drew twisted to smile at her. "Your mates will visit. The ground-pounders have to alternate weeks up here once the station's spinning, so they get holidays in proper gravity."
"Centrifugal force." Erik corrected Drew absently as he opened another bag.
"Whatever." Drew still held the robotics' bag and fished around inside. "It's work crews that matter now more than barracks mates."
He passed the clear container of memory cubes to Tyra. "I don't care about the personal stuff, but if these are for the colony's robots, they should go to Fynn. His crew's running the fuel depot. They're the ones maintaining the bots."
"I'll open the directory index to be sure." Tyra pushed away from Drew and extracted her flat pad from a pocket.
"Barracks are family," Liam said. "Next awakening, Evan can deliver these bags to the appropriate unit leaders. If the right person's still in stasis, hold the bag here in quarters for them."
"I'll go with Evan to deliver these cubes to Fynn," Drew said quickly. He hoped he could make more videos of the ghosts, but he didn't say that out loud. "Thinking about barracks makes me homesick. You've got plenty of attendants for the next awakening. Can I go, Liam?"
Liam raised an eyebrow to Erik in a silent question.
"Yeah, I can spare him. And the next phase of station construction doesn't start for a week or so. If Tyra's bragging's correct, it's perfect timing. Orpheus is welding the last spoke into place."
Tyra stood in her footholds to gaze over Liam's head at the chief medic. "The shuttle pilots are welding the last spoke."
Erik snorted good-naturedly.
Liam looked around the table and up at his crewmates floating against the overhead. "Cubes to Fynn, bags to barracks leaders. Any more discussion? No? Then, we've got a plan."
Chap ter 8
F ynn hopped onto the bench and raised his arms. "Well, okay then. As cohort, my first goal is to eliminate distractions."
He drew in a deep breath. The best plan was to keep his crew and the Blue Kin away from each other until things settled down. "Olsen. Lukas. You guys worked in the greenhouse for a while. How many varieties of algae does Max grow?"
"Four," Lukas said.
"Let's raise our own algae and forget about the Blue Kin. We have plenty of empty bins. Fill four with water. Is that enough? Or maybe eight? And rig up some hoses to bubble in warm air. What else?"
Fynn grinned as suggestions chattered over each other. No one pointed out that his plan followed Maliah's food restrictions. He could stay out of the trustees' way and make the Mechanics feel they had control of their lives. Jolly everyone along until those new spare parts were printed.
"You guys plan the ponds," Fynn said. "I have something to do."
At the edge of the greenhouse tunnel between a row of water-filled bins and the dome wall, Fynn bent over a pile of clippings sealed in clear bags. A few tiny, white-winged insects crept inside the plastic folds, but mostly mottled leaves hosted fairy-rings of pale specks.
He'd arranged with Max to carry these bags outside. Whatever the mistake that brought the flies to Titan, they couldn't survive two hundred below zero. He shifted to check the central aisle.
Hydroponic frames to the right raised a wall of swaying plants from floor to ceiling. Dozens of Kin where likely concealed in the growth, comparing vegetables to target harvest sizes.
Farther along the aisle were bins of pipe fittings. Three Blue Kin bent over a pump laid on its side, and beyond them stood an aeroponic garden, a forest of shiny columns organized in straight rows. Pinkish in the glow of grow lights, they were sheathed in dark, wrinkled leaves. Inside each column, potatoes suspended in Titan's low gravity grew as large as any tuber dirt-farmed on Earth.
Potatoes were currently the colony's main source of calories. Fynn needed a supply for his crew. No one could choke down enough algae cakes to avoid starving, and that would become apparent soon. Denied both dehydrated meals and potatoes, Mechanics would be fighting with Blue Kin again before the week was over unless Fynn could arrange some clandestine solution.
A wide-shouldered man popped out from behind the next row of bins. The whir of pumps and hum of ventilation had concealed his approach, but Fynn smiled at the farming cohort. Max Bauer once taught biology in the barracks school on Earth. Though Fynn didn't know it at the time, he'd trained Kin to run the colony's greenhouse.
Max returned the smile. "Glad to see you picking up today's cuttings."
Max was a sensible man and tried to steer his crew away from scapegoating the Mechanics. Fynn trusted him.
"A lot of bags today. Did you find a new outbreak? I need a bucket to carry them all," Fynn said.
Fynn paused to be sure none of the greenhouse crew was following on Max's heels. "I wanted to ask you about something. Potatoes for my crew and freshies for the Herschel. They deserve a share of your harvest."
"The greenhouse is my area of expertise, and distribution of produce is supposed to be at my discretion." Max tugged his cuff, perhaps venting his annoyance on the unfortunate sleeve. "I don't like Magnus telling me what to do. As if keeping Earth's spaceport locked down gave him a green thumb."
"The colony's schedule assigns the greenhouse to you, so why listen to anyone else?" Humming pumps masked their conversation, but Fynn leaned closer to drop his voice. "The Mechanics are filling bins with warm, bubbly water."
There was only one reason for bins of warm bubbly water. Max caught on immediately. "Good for you. No one could tell if a scoop of algae was missing from one of these ponds, and that's all a new bin needs to get started. No one's going to notice a few missing vegetables either. Not if only one or two are picked from any single plant."
"Thanks. I thought a few empty buckets staged here by the tunnel... a visit after your crew's gone to barracks... Where exactly would nighttime harvesting go unnoticed?"
Max pointed out frames and rows that could be lightly harvested, and then gave Fynn a loud goodbye and hearty clap on the shoulder in case anyone was watching them.
***
The Mechanics followed their usual evening routine and dimmed their lights on the Village schedule. A few hours later, Olsen tapped on Fynn's sleeping bin.
"The greenhouse lights are red," he whispered. While Max pushed their food production as hard as he could, even the varieties he'd brought to Titan needed some downtime for optimum growth, so an abbreviated night eventually came to the greenhouse. Which meant it was time t
o launch the raid.
Olsen had spent hours programing green and brown camouflage for his coveralls and happily transferred the pattern to the dozen crewmates who waited by their barracks. They'd all once worked for Max and knew exactly what to do.
The hum of pumps and fan impellers seemed deafening in the dark, but they had no need to talk. Max had stacked a pile of empty buckets along the wall. Each raider snagged one and climbed into the frames. Olsen and Lukas crept down the aisle, planning to tip an aeroponic column over and collect potatoes.
Fynn grabbed two buckets in each hand and dropped them at the first algae pond. A slotted scoop hung on the bin's lip. He dipped out a thick sample and, careful not to cross-seed the bins, replaced the scoop before moving to the next row. In a few minutes, he had enough to start the Mechanics own algae ponds.
The raiders assembled at the tunnel, Fynn counted heads, and laughter broke out as they crossed the furnace dome. No one was sleeping, so they were greeted as heroes, and a midnight potato party began.
Mechanics thumped Fynn's shoulders, congratulating him on the raid. While he kept saying he was only one raider on the team, he stood a little taller with each compliment.
He wanted extra food for a practical reason. So his crew would avoid confrontations with the Blue Kin and concentrate on their work. The warm reception was a pleasant bonus. He returned hugs and grinned till his face hurt.
Rica stopped at his side, carrying a lid to use as a salad bowl. "Your first act as cohort, and you did great."
He turned toward her. "I still don't appreciate being trapped into this cohort job."
"It wasn't only my idea." She hopped away, unrepentant, and headed for the serving counter.
Mika returned her coveralls to her favorite lemon yellow and held up a small tuber. "I bet I can grow potatoes in a matrix of shredded plastic, using fertilizer from the recycling system."
An icky necessity, but she was right. The colony had plenty of hydrocarbons, Titan was covered in them, but only the minerals they'd brought with them. Earthly prejudices about gardening in their own waste had to be abandoned, and the more food the Mechanics grew, the less trouble they'd get into.
Rica's lid was the perfect size for a giant salad bowl. "Tomatoes! This is a great morale booster."
"I want to set aside some buckets for the Herschel," Fynn said. "A shuttle's due tomorrow. What's easiest to prepare in zero-g?"
"Potatoes, squash, peppers."
Together, they sorted through their plunder.
***
A breeze from the Gravitron's sweeping rotation stirred strands of hair around Greta's silvery braid. She relaxed, reading, while the treatment session continued. Even Fynn was content with the machine's operation, so she didn't need to concentrate on the controls.
Scuffing footsteps caught her attention. "Maliah. It's good to see you get out of the tower for a walk." Her daughter's coveralls were stretched tight across her belly, but Greta only glanced peripherally, not wanting Maliah to stomp with annoyance at the attention. "Do you need anything? Or just came to watch?"
"I want to talk about this afternoon's arrival. Did you notice that the Kin awakening today are the first group of children?"
"Yes. Fourteen to seventeen-year-old boys, who won't appreciate being called children." The Herschel's commander had texted Greta on their clandestine channel, but she wouldn't confess that to Maliah.
Greta raised her flat pad in a reference to the schedule, even if it wasn't displayed at the moment. "I keep track of the level that's due next."
"I've been reviewing the cybernet, but I don't see any justification for waking them before the rest of the adults." Maliah raised her pale eyebrows in a silent question, but Greta shrugged. The medical cohort hadn't left any explanation.
"I found an appropriate speech among Tanaka's recordings," Maliah said. "One I can use as a greeting."
"I suppose you could create whatever you want from his image and voice."
Maliah's eyes widened. "Never. My words could never replace his. That's what I want to ask you. Should I..." She bit her lip and huffed out a breath.
Greta waited, wondering what she might be reluctant to discuss.
"Should I search for an elegy?" Maliah asked. "I must have a speech from a funeral in the records. In case one of the boys dies, I mean. Is that more likely because of age? And what about when we get to the youngest kids? The cut off for stasis was seven years olds, but that seems arbitrary."
Greta glanced at her pad, though she knew there was no answer there. "I have the lab's recommendations, but not the source files and not the experimental data. Their cut-off matches the age children move into barracks. That's an odd coincidence, so it could simply be convenient."
She kept her voice neutral. Criticism of Tanaka made her daughter angry and then they wouldn't talk for days. But Maliah was chewing on her lip, still worrying about the effect a teenager's death might have. It would be worse than an adult's death. A child's death always was.
When Maliah looked up, her expression was bland, her worry apparently gone. "Doctor Tanaka doesn't tell me anything about stasis."
"He doesn't tell you?" The words were dry in Greta's mouth.
"In his records, of course."
"Of course." Greta released her breath in a sigh. "I'll meet with my medics as soon as this centrifugal treatment is complete. We'll discuss anyone who may be in a fragile emotional state, so we can anticipate what they'll need if there's an adverse outcome. I'd like to warn everyone that children are arriving because I doubt many people keep track as well as you and I do. Maybe right after lunch. That allows everyone time to get used to the idea but not to work up hypothetical dread. Then I'll meet the shuttle at the dock and give you a signal. If you stand on the balcony, you can be ready with whichever hologram of Tanaka is appropriate."
There was no denying Kin found comfort and inspiration in Tanaka. And in Maliah.
"Thanks Mom. Doctor Tanaka trusts you. He told me you'd have good advice."
A flutter stirred in Greta's belly. Once again, Maliah sounded as if she'd just spoken to him. "He told you?"
"Oh, you know. Always." Maliah tuned to face the Gravitron. "He always said, you're the perfect Viking queen."
***
Fynn's flat pad buzzed and he fished it from a cargo pocket. It displayed a text from Drew.
The boys and their teacher are all awake and okay. Medics say, maybe the lower bodyweight-to-stasis-fluid ratio is good for kids.
Like anyone knew. But that was good news.
He texted back, when will shuttle land?
Three hours.
Plenty of time, but Fynn decided to get outside now, just to avoid any possible interference. He was doing this with Rica's help. He hadn't forgiven her for pushing him as cohort, but she'd been his partner for a while and he trusted her to keep today's secret.
Rica had stowed a bucket of potatoes and another of squash in his sleeping bin. After checking the lids were tight, Fynn carried them to the airlock. She was tending the furnace controls and watched him go by, but he didn't wave. If she expected him to thank her for manipulating him into the cohort role, she was wrong.
Bags of whitefly cuttings were staged in the airlock, and Fynn consolidated them into a single bucket. That was his excuse for going out.
He sealed the inner airlock door, suited up, and popped the outer door open. Losing some warmth and oxygen wasn't a problem for the domes. Their technologies manufactured more.
The rebreather hummed softly. Fynn hauled open the outer door and his suit's heaters clicked to life. A chill shook his body for a moment before he was warm and safe.
The beach reflected orange sky glow as he stacked everything outside and sealed the outer door.
Fynn tipped the flier sideways and flipped on the blower. He gripped the battery column between his legs, riding like a jockey to reduce drag as he sped along the lake. He had time to visit Spiral Bay, the place he'd first seen Titan's ghosts.
He followed the shoreline, sometimes swinging out over the calm methane that reflected a brownish sky. If he rolled the flier, Fynn could see the yellow glow overhead where Saturn hung in the sky. It never moved, unless he counted changes in the blob's shape as Titan's orbit dragged it through phases.
Despite Lukas promising that the rainy season was starting, no drops trickled down his faceplate. Saturn carried Titan through seasons on its thirty-year orbit, so a season lasted for years.
Fynn searched for the smaller glow of the Sun, but the haze was too thick today. He'd never seen Saturn's rings and not a hint of stars. Trips to the space station would be a welcome change, though mostly he'd have to view the sky on monitors.
He leaned toward the shore and flew inland over mottled ridges that seemed bright between fingers of smooth, dark brown. Run-off channels for methane rain, he supposed, though other compounds must leave the dark color.
Spiral Bay was easy to spot. A thin finger of the lake pointed to a small alluvial fan spreading from low hills onto a beach coated in brown hydrocarbons. It was too dark to see any of the glinting flecks that caught his eye originally, but he landed and dropped to his knees to dig a glove into the sand. The particles were smoother than near the domes and almost black, more like oil sand than ice sand.
Fynn raked the ground with outspread fingers and turned up a pale lump as big as his thumb, a conical spiral of twisted mineral threads. He carried it to the shore, adjusting his helmet display until the spectrum showed blue methane lapping black sand. Visible light made it too easy to walk into the clear liquid and get a jolt of cold before the boots adjusted. Putting extra load on the heaters probably wasn't a good idea.
On the helmet display, blue ripples lapped the shore. The lake was more disturbed than usual, so he didn't get close enough to splash with his fingertips, which was what brought tiny blue glows to the surface before. Drew warned him that there was no proof the glows or spirals meant something was alive in the lake, so he'd given Fynn neutral terms to use. Spirals instead of shells, and ghosts instead of sea lice. Fynn tossed the spiral and it drifted like a butterfly, dropping into the lake without a splash.
