Ceres Rising (Cladespace Book 3)

by Corey Ostman

  “A robot that eats dirt and poops a house.” Grace smirked.

  “You shouldn’t dwell on the poo analogy,” Tim said.

  “Why? Have you ever used poo? We used cow pies to make bricks. Burned ‘em for fuel, too.”

  “You can stop now,” Tim pleaded.

  Grace’s response was cut off by a sudden klaxon. Yellow warning lights glared in the cabin.

  “What the—”

  “Perimeter alarm!” shouted Charlie, his voice squelched by the noise.

  The Waltz lurched hard to port and shook violently. Then, two rows away from Grace, a hole opened in the deck. Everything loose in the cabin went into motion, pulled toward the hole as the air savagely sped into the vacuum. An empty seat detached and was sucked out as the maw opened wider.

  Grace had no air to scream. She was pressed forward against her restraints, pain shooting through her ears. She swallowed to lessen the pressure, but it didn’t help. The gray world tumbled rapidly outside, the Waltz turning end-over-end. She felt heavy, very heavy. Her vision tunneled. There was nothing she could do. She grabbed onto her armrests and kept her gaze directly ahead, fighting the panic of decompression, the nausea of spin. How long would it take to die?

  Suddenly, a green, fibrous liquid began streaming from nozzles throughout the hull, aimed at the hole. The fibers overlapped, hardening instantly. Soon they formed a scabby patch. It bubbled outward at first, but as more strands fell into place, it stabilized. The screaming of the air in her ears began to subside. Grace took a deep breath.

  “Emergency systems are sealing the rupture,” Tim said in her dermal dot.

  “Yeah, got that part,” Grace said. She tried to move, stiff and partially pinned against the seat in front of her. The ship still spun. The gray blur to port suggested that they were close to the ground.

  Grace had only seconds to tense before a deep, roaring shudder swept through the ship, drowning out the moans and screams around her. Debris flew starboard, and landed with a crash somewhere aft. Out the viewport, the spinning had stopped, but the world was confused in flashes of light and clouds of icy dust.

  Belatedly, another alarm pierced the air.

  “We’re down!” Plate shouted, unbelting himself.

  The cabin was at an odd angle. Most of the passengers were motionless in their harnesses. Some in stasis, some probably unconscious from the hull breach.

  Taisia was slumped over the side of her chair.

  Grace unbuckled herself and scrambled over seats to the woman’s side. Warm. Still breathing.

  “What happened?” Grace asked.

  “Don’t know,” Plate said. He was checking on other passengers.

  “The pilot must have countered some of the spin using her thrusters, and there isn’t enough gravity to do much harm,” Tim said in her dot.

  As the PodPooch spoke, the alarm went silent, though yellow lights still pulsed. Grace heard moans from the other passengers as everyone tried to orient.

  The captain’s voice squawked over the comm. This time, Grace heard the anger, the frustration. “Sorry, folks. A projectile hit us as we attempted to land. Ship’s in one piece, emergency thrusters have us safely pinned to the surface. Bode-6 confirms they are sending a crawler to take four at a time to the colony.” The comm buzzed as a shower of sparks erupted from the starboard hull. “It will be five hundred credits per person to disembark. I protested, but am told this is non-negotiable.”

  “Five-hundred? Kiss my metal ass!” Plate roared.

  “Welcome to Ceres,” Grace said to Tim as she ruffled his mimic fabric. “We’re two for two?”

  “Explain,” Tim said.

  “Here and Mars. I’m starting to think that we’re supposed to be shot out of the sky instead of simply landing.”

  The Waltz’s engineer came out of the cockpit and pulled himself aft.

  “What the hell was that?” Plate complained.

  “Bode-6 and your damned belt diplomacy,” the engineer said. “Now get the hell out of my way so I can get people out of stasis.”

  “We have some folks unconscious here,” Grace said.

  “I buffed the oxygen level,” said the engineer. “They’ll wake up soon.”

  Grace frowned. “And if there’s decompression damage?”

  “Only one stupid enough to come here without decompression mods is you, genius,” said the engineer. “If you’re fine, they are. Now get out of my way.”

  A few minutes passed, punctuated with rumblings and groans from the passengers. These were soon followed by oaths when the sleepers woke and learned the price of the bribe. Taisia and Plate were loudest, waving their fists and cursing in a mixture of languages.

  “Grace, you’re the only protector aboard. Think you can pull rank so we can get off first?” Tim asked in the increasing din.

  “You are one pampered pooch,” she said, surprised at being able to laugh. She was stranded on a dwarf planet four hundred million kilometers from Earth, toppled and tumbled, but at least she’d kept her sense of humor.

  She tapped Plate on his shoulder.

  “You, Charlie, and Taisia hang back with me,” she said. “I have an idea.”

  Taisia shook her head. “No. I go now. Not going to get involved in any protector nonsense.” She leaned closer to Grace and whispered, “You do what you think best.”

  Taisia slid out of her seat and joined the departing queue as roiders crowded the exit hatch.

  They waited until they were the last passengers left, then boarded the crawler while the crew stayed behind with the Waltz.

  Grace was surprised to find no pilot.

  “Anybody know how to drive this?” she asked.

  “Don’t have to,” Plate said. “It’s remoted from the bode.”

  Plate sat down at the disabled controls as Charlie pulled in alongside. There was a jump seat behind them: Grace pulled it down and strapped herself in. Tim stayed tethered to her, using his thrusters to hover near the ceiling.

  Abruptly, the crawler began to rumble toward Bode-6.

  “Figures,” Plate said, looking at his ptenda.

  “What?” Charlie asked.

  “I’m getting a stream from the roiders already inside. Confirms what we heard. Since the captain didn’t pay, they’re being extorted five hundred each. Roider named Larchmont is armed with an impact cannon, makin’ people pay or they don’t get in.”

  “A roider?” Grace said.

  Plate grunted. “Same guy who was takin’ entry fees the last time I was here. Back then it was fifty credits.”

  “Is he the one who shot us?” Grace asked.

  “If not him, somebody else,” Plate said. “It’s the belt.”

  Grace ground her teeth.

  “Don’t do it,” Tim pleaded in her dermal.

  “I’m a protector,” she whispered.

  “If other roiders felt it necessary to pay, who are we to complain?” Tim transmitted.

  Grace dismissed this. Extortion was wrong, plain and simple. She looked out the viewport, at the flashing approach lights broadcasting an opening in the outer spiral. Why should I pay for the privilege of being shot down? Why should anyone? The crawler crept inside Bode-6, coming to a halt in the center of a large hold and shuddering as it powered down.

  Grace unbuckled and moved toward the hatch. “I’ll exit first, ok? The two of you hang back with my PodPooch.”

  Grace unclipped Tim and attached him to a loop on Plate’s exoskeleton.

  “No way!” Plate said. She wasn’t sure if he was complaining about her initiative or about having a robotic dog tethered to him.

  “Think of Tim as a temporary upgrade,” she said.

  “If I needed to bark, I’d have had my vox modded,” grumbled Plate.

  “What’s going on, Grace?” asked Charlie. “Why are you going first? You don’t know Bode-6.”

  “I might not know Bode-6, but I know a bad apple when I bite one. Don’t worry,” she said, patting Marty, the weapon
beneath her jacket. “I’m just going to review our financial incentives.”

  “Financial what?” asked Charlie.

  “She’s going to get all protector on his ass,” grinned Plate. “Won’t work, but hell, I’m for seeing a good fight. Let’s see what you got, Gracie.”

  She raised a brow. “You placing bets or something?”

  “Three on the stream already, but don’t worry,” said Plate. “I got your back. I don’t want to be stuck with the dog.”

  “Fair enough.” Roiders.

  Grace spun herself around and unbolted the hatch. She heard a slight hiss of air as the pressure equalized and the door swung free.

  The chamber echoed when she dropped to the deck. It was a scuffed yellow, with black runway-style markings used to guide cruisers and organize cargo. The massive airlock had a low ceiling painted pale blue, about two meters above her head. Ceiling straps dangled from it, used by roiders for locomotion and maneuvering. She looked around. No passengers she recognized. Just beyond the crawler, a crew of three techs waited, equipment in tow. They were probably wanting to board the crawler and head for the Waltz.

  A lone roider stood by the entrance to Bode-6. He was short and lean, his face unshaven and his clothing dusty and torn. He stood behind a large impact cannon. It was about a meter in length, attached to a tripod and secured by locking rings. As she stepped from the crawler, he swiveled the cannon to aim at her.

  “I’m Lee Larchmont,” he said. “In charge of roiders at Bode-6. Entrance fee is five hundred credits. Transfer now.”

  He frowned, then slicked back his greasy brown hair. Was he expecting a roider to exit the crawler? Grace smiled, amused that he was making himself more presentable for negotiations.

  “That’s no problem, sir,” she said.

  Grace started to bounce toward him, moving awkwardly in the low gravity. She began unzipping her jacket while continuing to scan the chamber. She was shocked at the indifference of the techs: standing there as extortion unfolded and doing nothing about it. They weren’t even looking her way.

  Grace reached up and grabbed a long ceiling strap with her left hand, stopping herself directly in front of Larchmont.

  “How much did you say?” she asked, noticing that Larchmont had largely dismissed her as a threat. The impact cannon had drooped and was targeting the deck.

  “Five hundred.”

  “Fine, let me give it to you,” she said, reaching inside her jacket. She felt her weapon, a hybrid phasewave and slug-thrower, named after an old friend.

  Grace whipped Marty out and pointed it directly at Larchmont’s forehead. He blinked in the moiré shimmer of the laser sight.

  “Was that five-hundred kilovolts you wanted? Why don’t we make it a million. I can afford that, but I don’t think you can,” she said. Marty’s reaction chamber began to thrum.

  Larchmont turned pale.

  “I… Uh…”

  He spun, launching himself down the tube behind him and into the outer spiral of the bode, abandoning the impact cannon. Grace made sure he didn’t double back, then reached over and powered the cannon down. A win. But she knew she’d probably see Larchmont again. Bode-6 was small, and the scum’s clique was undoubtedly larger than hers.

  She turned as clapping and laughter erupted from behind. Plate and Charlie floated toward her with Tim in tow.

  “You’re something else, Gracie,” Plate said, smiling broadly. He detached the PodPooch and handed the tether to her. “We owe you one.”

  “No problem, guys,” she said, thrusting Marty back into her jacket and clicking Tim to her belt. “Anybody want a slightly used cannon?”

  Plate looked at the cannon. “It’s bode property. We’ll take it apart and stow it. The supply depot is probably missing it.” He motioned to Charlie and they began disassembling the cannon.

  “Need any help?” asked Grace.

  “Naw, we got this,” Charlie said.

  “All right, then. I’m going in.”

  “See you around the bode,” Plate said.

  Grace nodded a goodbye and pulled herself toward the entrance. It was a circular hatch with windows on either side, showing colonists bouncing and pulling themselves along a hallway. One figure didn’t move, though, and as Grace moved through the ring door, she realized he had a familiar face. It was Kyran Chanho, waiting to greet her. She hadn’t seen Kyran in ten years, not since she’d lived on the ranch, in cloister. His belly was a bit rounder, his straight black hair a bit thinner, but he still had the same huge smile above his short beard. Everyone’s big brother. Grace launched at him.

  “Grace!” he said as they embraced. “I saw the crash from my viewport. You ok?”

  “Yeah, that was an experience,” Grace said, releasing Kyran. “More surprised by the pirate outside, though.”

  Kyran looked confused for a moment, then grinned.

  “Ah, that’s why Lee went racing by,” he said, chuckling.

  “You’re on a first-name basis?”

  “You’ll find most of the people here are on a three- to six-name basis with Lee Larchmont,” Kyran said. “Lee-that-bastard, for example. Good to see him rattled for once.”

  “Hello, Kyran Chanho,” Tim said aloud.

  Kyran’s smile disappeared as the PodPooch spoke. He scanned the passersby.

  “Well, I’m sure we don’t want to stand here and chit-chat,” he said abruptly. “You must be tired.”

  “Nobody heard him,” Grace said leaning closer.

  “I think we should go to my place,” Kyran said.

  Chapter 3

  Kyran stared at Grace. He felt silly for letting her appearance surprise him. His youngest brother’s little friend had become a woman in the intervening decade. Taller than he expected—clearly taking after her dad’s side of the family—and her hair had deepened into a lustrous coppery gold, not the pale yellow of her youth.

  He’d met Grace in cloister, back when his parents, enchanted by the cloister ethos, had moved to Cheyenne. She had been the only local to extricate Raj from his introverted isolation. She even coaxed him to ride horses with the other children. It had been a simpler time in all their lives.

  Kyran turned and looked behind him. Grace was awkwardly bobbing along, PodPooch in tow. Tim Trouncer: Raj’s folly, the AI he should never have activated. Kyran sighed, keeping his pace slow so Grace could get used to moving in the anemic gravity.

  “What’s with the breeze?” she asked, after a while.

  “Air filtration,” he said, grabbing a strap overhead. “And it’s not always in the same direction. We reverse every couple of hours. Keeps what we breathe clean.”

  “Hmm. They didn’t do that on Mars.”

  “The domes on Mars are complete biospheres,” he said. “The bodes here are too small for enough plant life. Machines keep us breathing.”

  “What’s up there?” Grace asked, pointing to steep inclines as they passed.

  “The spiral is two-story,” he explained. “The tubes to the right constitute the spokes. Careful—”

  He caught her by the arm, keeping her from crashing into nearby roiders. “Excuse us,” Kyran said.

  “No problem, Kyran,” said one of the roiders, Keiko. She looked at Grace and raised her eyebrows. Kyran’s hope for a low profile sunk. Ceres was just too small a place. The roiders’ eyes followed them down the spiral.

  “They knew you,” said Grace. “How many people live here? Do you know all of them?”

  “About one hundred fifty,” Kyran said. “Yeah, I know most of them. Seventy percent roiders, some with kids. The rest are support people like me.”

  “Crowded?” Grace asked.

  “Can be. And busy. As the only doctor, I don’t get too bored.”

  “What sorts of illness do you see here?”

  “Illnesses? Not much. Some get sick when a ship arrives with new viruses, but that’s it. Gravity’s the main problem.”

  “Gravity?”

  “Indeed. We have
mandatory shifts in the work-spiral. Even children. But some people don’t go.” Kyran shook his head. “Even with sleep squeezes, the lack of gravity can mess up a body.”

  He wasn’t surprised when she grew silent after he mentioned sleep squeezes. Pure cloisterfolk, he thought, knowing he probably had some persuading to do before she’d wear one. Still, she was bouncing along the spiral rather deftly now. She’ll adapt.

  Kyran was so busy watching Grace acclimate that he nearly passed by his apartment. He dragged the toes of his boots to slow down. Grace did likewise. She’s a quick learner.

  But the PodPooch sailed right past. Tim, Kyran corrected himself as he reached for the ceiling to follow. He still wasn’t used to Eugene’s mind being inside the chassis. And he really wasn’t used to the new personality called Tim Trouncer.

  After ten meters of deceleration, Tim managed to bring himself to a stop and reverse course. Kyran heard a titter from Grace.

  “Stop laughing,” Tim hissed.

  “Can’t help it,” Grace mouthed, trying, but failing, to suppress her delight.

  “You’ve modified your dot to subvocalize?” Kyran asked.

  “Tim did it.”

  Kyran shook his head. Should have known, he thought, fingering the access panel next to his door. It slid open and they all went inside. The lights flickered on.

  Grace froze, an astonished look on her face. Kyran nodded to himself. Everybody had that same initial reaction to his oversized window, looking out onto the plateau. Grace pushed against the wall behind her, skidding closer to the view.

  “It still looks desolate, but it’s beautiful now.”

  “Aren’t you used to desolate? Mars, I mean. And Cheyenne?” Kyran said, standing with her at the viewport. The Cererian surface was gray and glassy, and to him offered more subtle beauty than the prairie back home.

  “Mars had color at least. And Cheyenne is practically gaudy compared to this,” she said. “But now that I can really look, there’s something to it. A cold beauty, like an empty glass.”

  “I think it’s like looking back. To worlds before life,” Kyran said.

  She nodded. “Truly a window onto another time.” Grace paused, then surveyed the room.

  “I didn’t expect your place to be so huge,” Grace said. “If my sense of direction is correct, we’re on the opposite side of Bode-6 from where we crashed, correct?”