Sentient Thrive (Thrive Space Colony Adventures)

by Ginger Booth

  “I’m afraid our greens pureed too thoroughly, sar,” Tikki demurred softly. “In the inertial dampener incident. It’ll be a month before anything’s ready to harvest. The fruiting plants survived. Perhaps a nice gazpacho?”

  “Oh. I guess that was only a couple weeks ago. Seems like forever. Gazpacho would be great.”

  Cope complained, “Ben, the man already prepared dinner. We’re about to eat it.”

  “Only take a moment!” Tikki promised. Meaty thunks emanated already from his chopping block.

  “My question,” Nico asserted, “was whether you experienced those hallucinations before.”

  “Good one,” Cope encouraged.

  Ben stared at him blankly a moment. “Oh, inside the gateway. Yeah, when I’m inside an ill-focused gateway, that happens. I never got stuck so long in the backwash before. Unpleasant.”

  Nico’s face crumpled, with a put-upon sigh. “How many times, Da – cap?”

  “Uh, maybe a half dozen times before we got the gateway working, and the same since. More now. That was three mega-doses in a half hour.”

  “Did it change you? Like permanent dam– um, changes?”

  Ben chuckled. “Cope, was I permanently damaged by test piloting the BECT drive?”

  Cope considered this. “Don’t really know. We were divorced. And then we remarried. Were you changed?”

  “He got weirder,” Wilder confirmed. “Happier though.” He rolled his eyes to land on Cope in displeasure.

  Teke joined the onslaught. “But you were able to function. Were you clear-headed throughout?”

  “Ha! No, I hallucinated the whole time. Couldn’t read my control panel. But Nico could. So that helped. Lavelle passed out for a half hour. But Cope was functioning too. That got us through. Would have been hell if I was the only one on task.”

  Remi narrowed his eyes from mid-table. “Only you three? Huh. But you’re not even related to Nico by blood.”

  “Not quite true,” Ben corrected him. “Cope and I were early recipients of an experimental gene patch. They tried to create genius by improving focus. As a toddler, Cope was deeply depressed after his parents died. So they lightened up the mix for me. And the gene crafters actually gave Nico both versions. So for that one genetic experiment, he’s sort of my son, too.”

  “Relevant effect,” Cope said thoughtfully. “We experienced hallucinations, but we could focus through them. Mine weren’t too hard to shove aside.”

  Nico shared, “I felt weird, and my eyes got squirrelly. I wouldn’t call it hallucinations. Nothing confusing.”

  Ben confessed, “Mine are confusing as hell, in full color, with conversational gambits. But I have priorities, and bull my way through the distractions.” He reached to serve himself some potatoes, but then withdrew his hand. “Teke? This is going to sound weird. But I feel like I see the past, and alternate futures. Is that…conceivable? Like I perceive some kind of alternate reality of branching possibility? Not just my mind playing tricks.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Teke replied. “In fact, believing in the visions would be a bit…”

  “Worrisome,” Cope suggested to complete his sentence.

  “Huh.” Ben smiled professionally, and resolved not to bring it up again. He’d appeared crazy all too often this year – bad for the ‘admiral’ persona.

  Hugo ventured, “But anything that looks close enough to real life could seem real. So do your dreams, right? Your subconscious recombines possibilities as a way to process the day. And any day you go through that, you’re giving your brain major upsets to work through.”

  “You’re probably right,” Ben agreed. Nope, not going to bring up the emu grandchildren. Definitely not going to mention his choice to save his marriage by flying the depot rock through.

  Except Teke hadn’t forgotten. “Ben, what were you thinking? When you decided to put the depot through? I told you there wasn’t time.”

  Ben shrugged. “I disagreed. And I was right. We got through, and saved a round trip and all the fuel.”

  Tikki delivered his gazpacho, and he fell to it with a vengeance. Cope walked up the table to try it. Ben stared at the alien posing as his husband. Cope preferred his veggies safely deep-fried or otherwise masked. But he asked Tikki for a bowl for himself. Remi, Teke, then Hugo eagerly requested some too. Maybe the hallucinations caused a vitamin deficiency?

  “Teke?” Ben asked, after they’d moved on to the main course. “Mutiny. Again. While I’m driving.”

  “Sorry not sorry.”

  “Gets on my nerves,” Ben noted.

  “If that gateway is destabilizing your cognitive function,” Teke reasoned, “and you continue using it, as you do. And you’ve experienced some other…lapses. I’m not wrong.”

  “Screw you. I may be crazy. But I’m good at it.” His eye caught Cope’s. He swallowed, suddenly nervous that his husband might take the physicist’s side.

  Fortunately the exchange caught Cope’s sense of humor. He raised his glass. “To impossible dreams. That prove possible after all, if you’re crazy enough to try.”

  Ben beamed at him. “Hear, hear!”

  After the toast, he made a mental note to allow Teke onto his ship less often. Clod. Unfortunately, the man had a free pass on the Spaceways fleet for inventing the BECT drive. And by the grace of the Denali baby board, they shared three kids in common. Ben was stuck with him.

  He accepted the unavoidable and settled to enjoy the party.

  Over dessert, Floki timidly launched his bombshell. “Sar? Everyone. I have decided to stay here. In Hanging Tree.”

  Having worked so assiduously to rig this result, Ben’s smile still felt bittersweet. And he ached for Nico’s pain. He nodded and raised his water to toast. “We’ll miss you, big bird. Any time you want out, comm me. But I’m happy for you.”

  The bird’s beak curved in a smile beamed round the table, as others joined in.

  Others except Nico. “Then I’m staying too!” he blurted in anguish.

  Floki shook his head. “Not safe. But I’ll build a human habitat. Then I’ll invite you. We have a lot to do before that’s ready, though.”

  “Who else do you invite?” Remi asked practically. “I know half of Hell’s Bells and the Sagamore Institute would kill to visit.”

  Wilder leaned forward in alarm. “You need security, big bird. If anyone wants to come, you check them out thoroughly. You got those interdiction cannons. Nobody comes without your say-so!”

  Remi shrugged. “Of course. But Sags, we understand bureaucracy. They must fill out a form and wait for approval, yes? And to check if they are good people, you contact Elise Pointreau’s husband on SO. He knows the worst secret of every Sag. Everyone who ever left Mahina into space, too.”

  “He what?” Teke demanded.

  “Your ex,” Ben offered sweetly, pleased to exact revenge. “She’s married to the Sagamore Orbital chief of security. Their spy master.”

  “Happily married?” Teke asked sadly.

  Remi looked offended. “Do I ask powerful people such a stupid question? I think not!”

  Ben rubbed it in, in satisfaction. “Elise really is a spy.”

  “No worries,” Remi reassured Floki. “Sags can keep you safe. As for Mahina…” Remi shot Ben and Cope a dry look. “You could ask them.”

  Ben smirked at him. “Whom Loki and Floki can trust implicitly.”

  “But of course.” Remi and Floki exchanged amused nods of understanding.

  Ben and Cope retired early to the captain’s cabin, for a luxurious night’s sleep. Tomorrow they’d warp back to Mahina in a double-jump, again crowding the limits of the 28-minute gateway duration to drop another satellite along the way.

  Ben finished his turn in the head and found Cope propped on the wall instead of slipped onto the covers. Talk time. He sighed and settled cross-legged facing him. “You’re afraid I’m crazy. Again. But I’m not.”

  Cope looked like he wanted to believe, but didn’t quite.
“Teke told me you said something interesting. ‘Cumulative psychic dissonance builds from repeated inter-dimensional warp shifts.’ Ben, if the gateway is making you nuts, maybe…”

  Ben laughed. “I’m not giving up space. Forget it.” He took Cope’s hand. “Does it change me? Yes. It blows the cobwebs off. Adults, we’re creatures of habit, you know? We get set in our ways thinking-wise. Keep living by conclusions we reached decades ago. The gateway, it opens my mind. Now is that crazy? For a forty-year-old man to be as flexible in his thinking as a 20-year-old? It’s abnormal. But all kinds of useful.”

  Cope scowled. “Example?”

  “Saggies are bad. But are they? I just got trapped in an asteroid with one. Turns out – surprise! – they call themselves Sags, not Saggies. They’re our next-door neighbors. They’re good at lots of useful things. Hell, their emergency air bubble kits were love at first sight.”

  “True.”

  “And they’re not evil. They’re organized. They live in tunnels, cheek by jowl, and their government is overbearing. Compared to ours which barely exists. Their urb class became aristocrats because they took responsibility for sponsoring their settlers – the paddies.”

  “Ben, slavery is wrong. You don’t doubt that.”

  “No. But I want to interview Remi’s friend for Spaceways. And he was a slaveholder. Let’s meet with him, Cope.”

  His husband clunked his head back on the bulkhead. “You ever feel this world we’re building, we don’t fit in it anymore? We made Mahina better. But it’s unrecognizable.”

  “That’s a win.” Ben picked at the covers. “I’m a spaceman, Cope. And I never belonged in Schuyler.” He spread a modest hand on his chest. “Born dust-bunny, like Jules. Clueless hicks from downtown nowhere. Opening my mind wasn’t such a bad thing.”

  “It just scares me, is all,” Cope admitted, voice low. “After Delilah. And bringing across the second rock. It wasn’t the safe choice.”

  Ben hardened his tone. “My choice. I was in command. I made the call. A few minutes of raw nerve saved a week of hassle, and secured our fuel supply. That was the whole point. I fly a fleet. It needs fuel.”

  Cope raised his hands and chuckled softly. “I surrender!”

  48

  Cope stood from the couch and smoothed his business suit, while Ben ushered in Carver Cartwright, Remi alongside. Ben looked great, relaxed and outgoing, thrilled to hold this meeting. He’d picked a navy blue suit as Colony Corps business attire.

  So eager to displace me as president.

  Gregarious Ben naturally introduced the candidate around the room. The Thrive Spaceways principals assembled in the mansion’s living room, its French doors open to the garden, floodlit against the gloom of Monday. Cope first, then Sass and Clay, Abel and Jules, rose to shake hands with the minor freight magnate.

  Social noises accomplished, Cope opened the meeting. “I don’t know what Remi told you about our situation.” He suspected his husband felt rebuffed when his new best buddy turned down an invite to vacation at their house. Remi stayed with Carver instead.

  “Remi briefed me extensively, and accessed your accounts,” Carver returned, settling to a loveseat beside his countryman.

  “He what?” Abel blurted, leaning forward.

  Remi shrugged unrepentant. “Only what I have access to.”

  “Ah…” Cope covered his face in his hand. About the only thing hidden from Remi was their illegal accounts. “Never mind. So you understand we’re in a financial bind.” He glanced into Carver’s eye. The Sag remained tactful. “I’m an engineer. I don’t have the skills to dig us out of this hole.”

  “That’s clear,” Carver allowed. “And a wonderful opportunity.” He turned to address Abel. “I believe I can offer solutions. If I may?”

  “Your English is good,” Jules noted suspiciously.

  “English is my native language.” Carver seemed puzzled that anyone on Mahina didn’t know Sagamore was bilingual. Fair enough. “I understand French, of course.” He smiled.

  Cope wasn’t smiling. “Go ahead. Shoot me your pitch.”

  “Right. First, I understand that you’re looking for a president, or CEO. I’m young for that. My company is small compared to yours. But I can help you, and join forces to pursue opportunities.”

  Cope sighed, brow furrowed, and leaned on one elbow. Ben beside him shot him a look that said Behave! “Which ‘opportunities’?”

  Carver nodded gratefully. “Your biggest challenge now is the fuel debt from the Denali evacuation. I called your top creditors –”

  “You what?” Cope cried in disbelief.

  “The biggest four are willing to accept replacement fuel in lieu of money –”

  “Thank the Lord!” Abel blurted.

  “Ah, that wasn’t my idea,” Carver noted. “Remi?”

  “Ben’s idea,” Remi supplied. “Maybe he did not act on it yet.”

  Ben said sourly, “I run the fleet. Not the office.”

  Carver pressed on. “Those four alone would discharge fully half of your debt. At the fifth, I decided I was overstepping.”

  You overstepped looking up their names, you rego Saggy! But Cope wore his business face today, or poker face. He used the same cynical expression for both.

  Carver continued, “They demanded my credentials. Ah, that was Schuyler Sex Toys?”

  “Mm,” Cope hummed noncommittally.

  “They sold you star drive fuel?”

  “Josiah sold me fuel,” Ben clarified. “Since Spaceways is legit, I put one of his legitimate companies on the books.”

  Carver canted his head, bemused. “You do business with – a Schuyler mob boss?”

  “Early mentor of mine,” Cope explained. “My first patent is from Sex Toys.”

  Abel and Jules looked suitably appalled, Sass and Clay amused.

  Ben grinned. “I need this story!”

  Cope shot him a quelling glower. “Not in a business meeting, you don’t.”

  But Carver looked up the patent on his tablet. Ben reached for his own, but Cope slapped his hand away.

  Expression partially masked by fingers to his brow, Carver noted evenly, “You have a great many patents, Mr. Copeland.”

  “Call me Cope.”

  “Cope. Family tradition, eh? Amanda van Beek?”

  “My grandmother. Her patents are public domain.” She died before Cope was born. But he was proud of her, a groundbreaking engineer among Mahina’s first settlers.

  “Not quite,” Carver stated, still following records. “I’m confused. Aren’t you her last surviving heir?”

  “Assuming my uncle’s dead,” Cope agreed. “Safe bet.”

  “Y-yes. He died when you were 16. Of…cancer complications.” This Carver was a tactful guy. Cope suspected his uncle died of cirrhosis. “But why didn’t you inherit the patent?” His fingers continued onward to answer his own question. “Ah.”

  “I lived in Northwest Juvie then,” Cope admitted. “Carver, this isn’t relevant. Grandma put the ozone spire patents in the public domain for the good of all Mahina. The moon owns them, not me.”

  “No,” Carver corrected him again. “Mahina is granted free use of the inventions in perpetuity, for the atmo spires. All other applications pay royalties.” He made a note of it. “We can follow up with a lawyer. I doubt you can recover back payments for twenty years. But you can recover it going forward. Ah, but does that income stream go to Spaceways? Personally, you’d be set for life.”

  Cope snatched up the tablet on the table before them. “What else is that patent good for?” He didn’t care about the money. Which spoke volumes about why Spaceways needed a business guy at the helm.

  Carver answered the question for the onlookers’ benefit, since Cope was reading for himself. “The first license leveraged it to decontaminate Phosphate Mine 1.”

  That was the death trap that nearly killed Nico as a baby. If he’d had that money then, he never would have gone to Denali or…

&n
bsp; Abel kept score. “Carver, you’ve already found over half a billion credits for Spaceways. Plus personal millions for Cope.”

  “Ah, those weren’t my ideas,” Carver reminded him. “I just saw the patent – never mind. My proposals are on the income side. Your biggest income stream is Denali slavery –”

  Cope nearly broke his tablet tossing it back on the end table. He sat bolt upright. “Not slavery!”

  Carver countered firmly. “My proposal. First, the repayment rate, half their pay, is slavery, and destitution. You’ll destroy not only them, but the entire Mahina economy at that rate.”

  Abel defended, “Denali chose the rate.”

  “And they’re dead wrong.” Carver shook his head bitterly and met Abel’s eye. “You and I know business, and money. If those immigrants are to succeed here, they need a minimum income to get on their feet. They need to spend on consumer goods, not pay Spaceways’ fuel tab. This expands the Mahina economy, creates jobs for them, builds homes and farms and schools. And once they’re living a middle-class life, then you tax them.”

  “Agreed,” said Abel.

  “Unilaterally, I would set the maximum repayment rate at maybe twenty percent. But only on income above six hundred a month.”

  “Rego hell yeah,” Ben breathed.

  “That needs to happen,” Sass agreed. “The repayment rate destroyed the Sylvan expedition. The Denali immigrants are mad as hell, and I don’t blame them.”

  Cope nodded. “But that cuts our income.”

  Carver plowed onward. “I suggest you don’t hold those indentures. Spaceways cuts the repayment rates first – because we know they’re destroying Mahina’s economy and creating a new slave class. And we do not want that.”

  Cope burst out, “Remi says you’re a slave-owner!”

  Ben murmured, “Don’t attack the guy. I want to hear his idea.”

  But Carver faced Cope. “Not anymore. Let’s stop and clear the air. My father bought me slaves when I was twelve. Fifty, scraped from the bottom of the barrel, the cheapest he could find. Plus a rotten tunnel barely big enough to house them, no room for crops. If I succeeded, I earned enough for college and entered the bureaucracy. If I failed, tough luck. Because Father couldn’t afford to educate me.”