by D. M. Pruden
“You’re speaking from first-hand experience, no doubt?”
“Oooh, a direct hit. You don’t waste time, do you?”
“I don’t like the idea of false hope.”
He nods knowingly. “I see. You arrived a month ago, maybe?”
I snort and sip my drink. “That obvious, eh?”
“You’re not the first.”
I have not shared many real conversations since my arrival at Artemis, and I am just drunk enough to be chatty. “I made the mistake of accepting the hype of how great life on Luna could be without doing my due diligence. It was stupid of me. I knew that life doesn’t let you touch what it dangles before you, but the emotional state I was in clouded my cynical judgement. For once in my life I wanted to believe that good things could happen to me.”
I blush. The booze acts like a truth serum.
“You lost someone in the war, didn’t you?”
I stare at him, stunned by the insight. “Everyone did.”
He nods again, and we sit in silence for a couple of minutes, counting our losses.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what did you hope to find here?”
Sighing, I finish my drink. “I dunno, a fresh start? Luna isn’t supposed to be my destination, just a means to an end, but I fucked myself. Now I’m running out of credits, with no real job and no prospects.”
Why did I spill my soul to this stranger? I don’t normally share anything. Trusting people is not my thing. It must be a combination of the alcohol and my growing depression.
We share another silence, both staring into our empty glasses.
“You’re a doctor, eh?”
I almost fall off my stool. “How the fuck—”
“I saw you today at the public clinic. You patched up my man.”
I squint as I examine his face, trying to recall him.
“Most of the time my people come out of that place no better than they went in.”
“It sounds like working for you is hazardous.”
“Why are you patching up losers there? Somebody of your obvious competence should be making the big bucks for one of the corporations.”
I laugh. “I thought so, too. It turns out they are a closed shop. I needed some cash, and the free clinic was the only gig I could find. The pay is shit, but at least I can eat.” I smile wanly and raise my empty glass.
“Somebody with your skills shouldn’t be wasting her talent.”
“Thanks, but you really don’t know anything about me.”
“I saw you patch a nasty wound today. I’ve also seen lots of examples of the kind of work that comes out of that clinic. Trust me, I know how good you are. Where did you train?”
Examining my glass, I wish it had another gulp in it. “I trained at the Terran Medical Academy.”
He whistles quietly. “And now you’re slumming it here. I’m sure a story’s there that is none of my business.”
“You didn’t simply happen upon me in this dive. What do you want?”
His smile is impish. “I want to offer you a job.”
“Bullshit. You’re just looking for a creative way to get into my pants. Fuck off.”
His back straightens, and he places a card on the bar before extending his right hand to me. “I’m Roy Chambers, captain of the independent freighter, Requiem.”
Ignoring his proffered hand, I pick up the antique paper business card to examine. “What do you want with me, Captain Roy Chambers of the Requiem?”
“As you already noted, working in space is hazardous. Injuries are common, especially on long runs when people become bored, tired, and careless. My ship’s doctor quit about a year ago, and I’ve been unable to find the right person to replace him—until now.”
“You mean nobody is desperate enough to work for what you’re willing to pay?”
His smile returns. “I’ll admit, I can’t match what a corporate position pays, but there are significant opportunities for a talented physician to supplement her income on a long run.”
Frowning, I toss the card back to him. “The brothels are further up the street, asshole. Try looking for what you want there.”
He chuckles. “Okay, I admit I didn’t phrase that well. I’m only interested in your medical talent. Your gender has nothing to do with this, Doctor...?” He cocks his eyebrow.
With a sigh, I extend my hand. “Melanie Destin, but I suspect you learned that from the clinic.”
We shake hands.
“All I ask is that you consider my offer. It pays better.” He stands to leave.
“If I decide to take you seriously, how can I reach you?”
“Come by our docking bay and check us out. The berth is written on the back of that. Everything is legitimate. You can meet the crew and speak with anyone you want. We’re in port for the next two weeks.”
After tossing back the last of his drink, he nods with a smirk and leaves.
I study the card while trying to decide if the encounter was just an elaborate con. A bar fight breaks out in the far corner, and I decide to make my own exit. No doubt I will see one or both combatants at the clinic in the morning.
Chambers’ offer seems more attractive by the minute.
Chapter 3
“You look like a man who just won a bet,” I tell Chambers. He casually leans against the outer door of his ship, a smug grin plastered on his handsome face.
“I did; several, actually.”
“Is that how your crew earns supplementary income?”
“We enjoy our fun.” Taking my bag, he escorts me into Requiem. From the limited view I have of the exterior, the vessel is an older model. It appears well maintained, with a fresh coat of paint and all, but that is not a real indication of how space-worthy she is. Fortunately, Chambers and his crew checked out on all fronts, so I accepted his offer.
Everything about him seems legit; even the corporation that owns the ship has an unusually squeaky-clean reputation. I don’t believe that things can’t be covered up, but to the depth I could dig, everything he told me is true.
He proudly gives me a tour, pointing out the upgrades and enhancements his bosses have paid for.
“I’m afraid most of the crew is still enjoying shore leave. They’ll all be back by morning, though. We depart early.”
We stop at a door. “This is it.”
The label on it reads ‘Infirmary.’
Chambers steps aside to give me access, as if inviting me to open a gift. The door opens to reveal a room that would be crowded with two people in it.
“I’m sorry if it isn’t up to Terran Medical Academy standards, but it is well equipped with everything you should need.”
I smile. “Do you mind if I verify that for myself?”
He laughs. “No, that’s why I hired you. Tell me if you find anything missing, and I’ll order it before tomorrow’s departure.”
My quick perusal suggests that it is well stocked with all the basic medical equipment and some unexpected extras. I point at the tissue regeneration inducer. “This isn’t an easy item to come by.”
“As I told you, Canto Corporation is a generous employer. We spend a lot of time in deep space, and our previous doc wanted to make sure he could perform any emergency surgery.”
“Well, he could almost regrow an entire person with this tech. Has it ever been used?”
He directs my attention to the cryo-storage unit. “We’re generously supplied with drugs, microphages, vaccines, antivirals, nanites—you name it, and we’ll supply you with as much as you want, no questions asked.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What, exactly, is the nature of your relationship with this company?”
“It’s unconventional. Though they technically hold title to the ship, the crew and I own shares in it. As do you.”
“What does that mean, precisely?”
“It means we share in all the profits from our activities.”
“And who covers any losses?”
“The arrangeme
nt motivates us to ensure that doesn’t happen. But if it ever did, well, that is the advantage of having a major corporate backer with deep pockets.”
“I had no idea that interplanetary shipping could be so lucrative.”
He grins. “Shall we continue the tour?”
For another hour he shows me every corner of his ship, ending the trip at my quarters.
“Since we spend over three hundred days a year in space, you won’t need to rent an apartment on Luna. The cabins are small but comfortable. You even get your own private toilet and shower.”
“Marvellous,” I say as I relieve him of my bag. We stand for a few awkward seconds, looking at each other. “Is there anything else I should be aware of, Captain?”
“We don’t stand on formalities. Everyone calls me Chambers.”
Another uncomfortable pause ensues. He wants something from me, but I have no idea what.
He clears his throat. “All of the required paperwork is on your desk. Send it to me by the end of the day, please. The ship departs at 0600. If you decide to spend your last night on the town, it would be best not to be late.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
After a wink, Chambers strides off down the corridor, leaving me to consider my commitment.
The boilerplate language of the contract overwhelms me when I try to review it. Canto Corporation certainly tried to cover its ass from every angle. I wonder how many lawyers it took to write it.
It contains a few bizarre sections, including a morality clause. I smirk at that. If they only knew about my past...
When I call him, Chambers assures me that the contractual weirdness is peculiar to operating a ship registered on Luna. The government requires inclusion of specific clauses in contracts of any Lunar-based company. “Since we spend more than 80% of our time outside of their jurisdiction, most of that crap falls within a grey area. I wouldn’t worry about it. Nobody else does. Just keep your nose clean when we’re on the Moon.”
After signing the document, I unpack and realize I am hungry. I decide to check out the ship’s cuisine and head for the mess hall.
With most of the crew still away, it is empty. Having met no one else during the tour, I’m not surprised to find the eating area abandoned. The food dispenser is a model I’m unfamiliar with, and I quickly become frustrated with the arcane interface.
“It isn’t the easiest system to use.”
A scruffy little man with short-cropped hair stands behind me. He wears dirty coveralls, and a large smudge of grease is smeared across the right side of his rough-looking face. Uneven teeth clench an unlit cigar.
“I’m new...” I wince at the obviousness of that statement.
He wipes his hand on his coverall and extends it to me. “Call me Schmaltz. I’m the Chief Engineer on this tub.”
I accept his hand. “I’m Mel, the ship’s new doctor.”
“Yeah, we all heard Chambers had found someone. Pleased to meet you.”
The formalities complete, he points at the food dispenser. “We picked this thing up on Titan last year. It takes everyone a while to figure it out. What can I buy you?”
“Buy?”
“Sorry, that’s just an expression. What would you like to eat, Doc?”
“I wanted something for breakfast...”
Schmaltz nods and runs practised fingers across the panel. Within a minute, we both sit at one of the tables, each with a plate of synthetic protein masquerading as bacon and eggs.
“Mmm, this is surprisingly tasty,” I say with my mouth full.
“The quality of the chow makes up for the interface.”
While we eat, Schmaltz chats my ear off. He is a fountain of gossip about everyone on the ship. I make a mental note not to give him anything to share about me.
As we finish the last of our coffee, a tall, thin man with a swarthy complexion enters the mess hall. Schmaltz immediately falls silent, and his eyes follow the newcomer as he makes his way to the food dispenser.
“Who is he?”
Schmaltz shakes his head. “Nobody you need to bother with.”
As if sensing our attention, the fellow turns to look at us. A sly smile turns up the corners of his mouth as he picks up his cup of coffee and walks toward us. Schmaltz faces me and rounds his shoulders.
“Good morning,” the stranger says cordially.
“Morning, Singh,” says Schmaltz without looking up.
His response amuses the newcomer. He turns his dark eyes to me, and his demeanour becomes more formal. Extending his hand, he says, “I am Parvinder Singh.”
Shaking it, I smile. “I’m Melanie Destin.”
He pulls out a chair and joins us at the table. Schmaltz’s discomfort increases exponentially.
“You are the new physician, are you not?”
“Yes, I am. What is it you do on the ship, Mister Singh?”
Amused, he says, “Parvinder, please. I am the client representative for this run.”
I glance at Schmaltz, who stares into his empty cup. His cigar vibrates as his jaw clenches.
Parvinder notices my attention to Schmaltz, and his smile broadens. “Schmaltzy and I are old acquaintances. My employer is a regular customer of the Requiem.”
A peculiar tattoo on his neck peeks out from under his collar. It is of a similar design to the one on the backs of his hands, and I wonder how extensive the markings are. I am about to ask him who he works for, but another glance at the uptight engineer sitting across from me gives me pause.
Something about Singh seems off. My sense for people doesn’t often fail me, and I can read them fairly accurately. I suppose it’s sort of a super power. It saved my ass more than a few times in the dangerous slums of New London where I grew up. I am disturbed that I can’t get a reading off him. I decide to interpret Schmaltz’s discomfort as a warning.
The conversation grinds to a stop, and when Parvinder realizes there is nothing to gain by tormenting Schmaltz through me, he stands and excuses himself.
When the door closes behind him, I say, “What the hell was that all about?”
“You want to stay away from that man.”
“Why?”
“Because of who he works for. He’s a very dangerous person.”
I scowl at him. “Are we going to play twenty questions, or are you going to start making some sense?”
Schmaltz sighs and looks about the room to assure himself we are alone.
“He represents the Jovian Collective.”
“Never heard of them.”
He leans forward and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “They’re gangsters that operate out of the Galilean Colonies.”
“Why is Chambers involved with them?”
He shrugs. “I dunno, but he’s done business with them for years.”
“Of what sort?”
“Smuggling. We regularly ferry cargo between Luna and the outer system for these guys. Somehow their packages seem to avoid customs inspections at any port we make.”
I sit up straighter. “That is quite the accusation.”
He shrugs again. “It’s what I know. This thing smells, but I’m not paid enough to make a fuss. I need this job.”
“Has Singh ever threatened anyone to keep quiet?”
His eyebrows rise. “Just keep your distance from him, Doc. You don’t want anything to do with the guy.”
“And what do you expect me to do if he is injured?”
“He’s not the one who gets hurt, if you catch my drift.”
I want to press Schmaltz for more information, but he stands, signalling the end of our conversation. “It isn’t too late for you to quit before we leave port. I gotta go back to work.”
He departs without waiting for a response, leaving me to ponder what I have signed up to be a part of.
I also wonder what happened to my predecessor.
Chapter 4
Despite the comfort of my bunk aboard Requiem, I tossed all night.
I couldn�
�t get Schmaltz’s ominous warning out of my head, and my mind was awhirl with the debate over quitting.
Throwing off the covers, I sit on the edge of my bed. The chronometer on the nightstand informs me I have three hours to come to a decision before the ship leaves port. What I need is a strong drink, and I curse myself for not packing something “medicinal” in my bag.
When I came aboard, I didn’t think it would be appropriate for the ship’s doctor to smell of booze during the voyage. I suspected Chambers didn’t care about trivial shit like a little drinking off duty. If he smuggled for the Jovian Collective, little things like rules were likely not important to him.
At least I have a clearer indication what the implied pay bonuses are for. The only unanswered question is whether the ship’s owners are aware of the off-the-books activities.
The idea of breaking laws doesn’t bother me. I spent most of my youth dodging the authorities. In my experience, the only difference between a criminal and a law-abiding citizen is who gets caught.
What gives me pause is Chambers’ involvement with gangsters; by default, so is the entire crew. The situation irritates a raw nerve for me.
I rub my left shoulder where a brand once identified me as gang property. When I escaped, I swore I would die before letting it happen again. And now I find myself closer to that old life than I ever intended.
There are still a few hours; I could tell Chambers that I changed my mind; there’d been a death in the family or something. I am good at making men believe what I want them to.
But then what? Back to the clinic to slave for a subsistence income? All of my savings are gone. It will take me years just to accumulate enough to return to Terra; forget about my dreams of starting my real life on Mars.
A sigh escapes me.
Even if I take that route, returning to Earth is a one-way trip to nowhere. I might find a job as a military medic for one of the factions. Wars are almost constant as regional warlords vie for dominance. I probably won’t be able to spend my pay, since my life expectancy will not be promising. The civilian medical prospects for me there are as bleak as on Luna. Too many burned bridges are behind me.
