In the cold light, she heard the sound of low voices coming through the wall behind her. Not daring to flush, she stepped softly from the bathroom.
“You’ve got to keep her sweet,” the first voice said. “She’s a tool of the revolution, but you need—.” The words came muffled, unclear. “—the wedding will cement that—.”
Holding her breath, she moved a few steps closer, cupping her ears to listen.
“I know she’s thick, but that’s the point.” She heard Arfo’s voice, but it sounded harsh, threatening. “She’s obedient and malleable — you need to stick to the plan.”
She leaned closer, pressing her body hard against the cold metal wall, shrouded in the shadowy mid-point between two light halos.
“I can’t stand her though. She’s ugly, she’s boring — she does nothing for me. What am I getting from this?”
“You fucked her, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes — what would you have done if it was there in front of you?”
Janis froze.
“Look, we’re done with her now, surely?”
“If you don’t continue the engagement, people will suspect.”
She gasped as a sudden white-hot pain tore through her chest. She wanted to cry out, to scream, but instead she moved in silence back to her room.
She climbed into the bunk, wrapping the blanket tight around her. A numbness engulfed her. She lay for a long time, staring into the dark, listening to the air ducts hissing and wheezing through the night, pretending to be asleep when Mataes returned. He lay next to her, rigid, silent.
They both remained awake until morning, neither acknowledging the other.
“There they are, my favourite couple,” said Arfo as Janis picked at her porridge.
“She’s in a mood this morning,” Mataes said. He tipped a second boiled egg into his bowl.
“I’m not in a mood. I’m tired.”
“Well we’ve got a wedding to plan, haven’t we?” Arfo said, sitting to Janis's left.
She pushed her spoon around her bowl, wishing he would go away.
“Come on — it’s not that bad,” he said. “We’ll do something really special.” Arfo smiled. “You like apples? I know a great recipe for an apple cake — we could have that at the feast.”
She slid along the bench and rose to her feet. “I don’t like apples,” she spat, marching away from the table.
Janis wiped another tear away as she programmed the cleaning drones for another day’s work. She paid no attention to the smiles and greetings of other workers as she turned to the stairwell and made her way up to the upper levels.
She entered the former higher-ups’ living quarters, cupping a hand over her nose. The bodies had been removed and jettisoned from an airlock, but the smell of death still lingered — at least to her it did.
The level was quiet, save for the reactor’s hum and the occasional whistle of air ducts. With a deep breath, she pulled open the single door to the communications room and sat in front of the console. She spent several minutes examining the black sheen of the buttons and turning the receiver in her hand.
Nodding to herself, she switched on the console and opened the communicator to broadcast on all external channels. She wasn’t sure if this would register with those onboard the orbiter, but it was a risk she had to take. The betrayal was too much. They’d used her.
“Hello,” she said, her voice thin and trembling. “I’m on the Titan Orbiter and, well—.” She checked over her shoulder. “The workers have taken over. Please send help or something. Arfo and Mataes did it. They killed the higher-ups.” She frowned. “Please.”
With adrenaline rushing through her body, she got up quickly from the seat and left the room, unsure whether her message had worked.
Janis frowned as Mataes crawled beside her into bed. “I know what you and Arfo have been scheming,” she said through a lump in her throat. Sweat pooled on her brow and seeped from her armpits. Her heart raced in the darkness.
Mataes sat up and slid his legs from the bunk. “You’re already in on the plan — you know that,” he said in a low voice. “You're tired. You should try to sleep.”
She clenched her jaw and sighed. “Just stop,” she snapped. “Just stop the lies. I heard you talking last night.”
Mataes stiffened.
“I heard you,” she repeated. “What was it you said? That I was thick? That I was boring? You weren’t saying that when you were inside me. How could you be so—.” She swung a fist against the wall.
Mataes stood. She waited for him to speak. “Are you going to say anything?”
“It’s not what you think,” he said after a long silence.
“Then explain it to me.”
“I... I can’t.”
“You thought you were so clever. You and Arfo. What was your plan? Trick the stupid cleaner lady in doing your dirty work?”
“Not—.”
“Stop lying,” she snarled. “I knew exactly what I was doing with those drones. You weren’t tricking me at all.” Her pulse thundered in her ears. “Well?”
“Well, what?” he huffed. “I don’t fucking know.”
She saw him as a faint outline against the dark as he paced back and forth, rubbing his hands on his scalp in a jerking motion.
Wrapped in her blanket, Janis sat up and switched on the light. She caught Mataes’s eye with a sharp glare and smirked to herself when his gaze shot to the floor.
“You’re pathetic,” she said. “I want you to take your stuff out of my bunk and get out of here.”
“Fair enough,” he mumbled.
She rose to her feet, her blanket dropping to the floor. Standing naked before Mataes, she leaned so her mouth brushed against his right ear. “You can tell Arfo I was in the communication room today,” she whispered. “You can tell him I sent a message to all open channels telling them what’s happened here.”
Mataes’s eyes widened. She pointed to the door. “Now leave.”
He hurriedly scooped up his belongings and left without another word. Janis leaned her back against the door, sobbing.
Janis closed the cleaning store behind her when the alarm sounded. Workers ran past her in all directions.
Flinching at the siren’s shrillness, she grabbed a man’s shoulder before he could pass. He squirmed as he stopped himself from tumbling. “What?” he snapped, his dark eyes wild.
“What’s with the alarm?”
“Some ships have docked.”
Janis stood motionless as the man turned and fled. The thin trace of a smile made its way across her face as she pictured the reactions of Arfo and Mataes.
Covering her ears, she backed her way through the door into the cleaning store, closing it behind her and noticed the vacuum suit hanging like a marionette from a peg on the far wall.
She took off her coveralls and examined the suit. Taking the suit down, she pulled it up her legs, her shoulders contorting as she reached into the arms. The suit’s material clung to her like a second skin. She checked and fastened the oxygen tanks. The noise from the alarm dropped as she clicked the helmet into place. She breathed a satisfied sigh.
Stepping into the main corridor, scores of panicked workers ran past her in dreamlike silence. Reaching the departure platform, the capsule stood, unmoving. Groups of men and women paced around in confused agitation.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out over the platform edge, turning the knob to release the suit's propellant. She rose past the capsules and the workers and up towards the darkness.
Her body jolted upwards as she ascended the tunnel. She drifted through weightlessness, adjusting the propellant as the gravity flipped. She did not stop to look out of the window.
The daylight lamps came into view as she drew closer to the side of the station.
Coming to a stop, she found the capsule platform empty. She removed her helmet and breathed. Placing the helmet on the platform, the alarms stopped, leaving behind an unnerving absence, a str
ange stillness.
She stepped through a large door into a corridor and crept past the kitchens. Most of the workers were on the other side of the orbiter during daylight hours, but this was too quiet.
Approaching the workers' mess hall, she heard shouts coming from inside. She pressed herself against the wall at the sound of a loud bang, followed by a chorus of screams. Holding her breath, she moved to one of the mess hall doors and peeped through a thin crack.
Her eyes widened as two dozen men dressed in black uniforms stood over some of the workers. Three bodies lay on the floor, blood pooling around them. She almost called out as one of the uniformed officers lifted up a sidearm and shot a woman in the head.
Scores of familiar faces lined along the mess hall wall with their hands on their heads. She gasped at the sight of Mataes.
She moved away from the door and caught her breath at the snap of another shot.
Stepping into the kitchen, she walked past half-prepared meals and shouldered her way into a storage cupboard. Though not as well-stocked as her own, she found barrels containing various cleaning fluids. She rolled them over to the kitchen hatch, straining as she lifted them onto the worktop.
Ducking, she pressed the button to raise the serving hatch and tipped the containers into the mess hall. She scrambled back to the storage room. More shouts and cries came from behind her. She tipped all the containers out that she could before her lungs burned and vision blurred. Thick white mist gathered all around her as the chemicals hissed and fizzled.
She lay on the floor as the coughs and chokes from the other workers faded.
“Forgive me,” she whispered.
Episode 5: Traders, After All
The Segrado, on approach to L2 Platform, Lunar
Ajay Johar tapped at his console as he waited for a response from customs. A series of monitors showing multiple views from the Segrado's exterior cast a cool glow over Ajay's sharp features as he tugged at his black ponytail. He wore a simple black suit adorned with leather thongs about the wrists and ankles and the high-collared shirt favoured by mid-level professionals across the Union.
“Go ahead,” a voice said, crackling through the console.
“Yes, this is the Philboyd requesting permission to dock,” he said.
The L2 elevator platform extended like a spoke from Lunar's surface. The console estimated its diameter to be sixty kilometres. A white spot overlaid part of the visual display highlighting L2's docking bay.
Ajay waited for a response.
“We didn't detect your approach. Please state your business,” the voice crackled. “Are you an Affiliate?”
“I'm an independent trader carrying art objects from Mars.” Ajay's calm voice belied his impatience. Something about this situation didn't feel right
Scanning the bank of monitors, Ajay looked for signs of movement. He was probably being paranoid, but he wasn't willing to sacrifice everything for carelessness. As a precaution, he keyed in the emergency escape programme and began to count down from thirty. He told himself that if he reached zero, he would turn the Segrado around and get away from L2 as quickly as possible. Thirty. Twenty-five. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten. Five. Four.
“Permission granted to dock,” the voice crackled. “There will be a docking tax of fifteen Sols.
“Yes. Thank you.” Ajay brushed his ponytail and leaned back into his seat, exhaling with relief. He'd never had problems before with docking, but there was always that thought in the back of his mind that he had played his luck one too many times.
“Please approach the central dock no faster than one-hundred clicks and we'll guide you in.”
He moved the Segrado closer to the docking bay. Three guiding cables tentacled towards the Segrado.
The ship wobbled as the cables hit their mark and pulled it into the docking bay, the platform doors closing behind him.
Docking Bay, L2 Platform, Lunar
Ajay strode across the docking area floor in search of a customs agent, weaving between people and drones as they swarmed across the concrete. He looked between a pair of Boeki trade ships suspended like marionettes by thick docking lines. The ships were grey with bulky rivets and sharp angles. Market staff unloaded crates, carrying them along the web of steel walkways towards the main central floor.
He walked on past a Muedin cruiser, blue and white with smooth, seamless curves, a dozen local shuttles, and the long-distance Fune transporter. A tiny crab-like cleaning drone whizzed between his legs.
He looked back at his ship. At a hundred metres from end-to-end, the Segrado was the smallest vessel in the dock — a chiselled black sphere against the backdrop of bare concrete, steel beams and the hundreds of busy people — traders, dignitaries, citizens.
He smiled as he spotted a customs agent through the crowd. Short and thin, her shoulder-length blonde hair fell in limp curls. Her ill-fitting blue suit hung awkwardly around her shoulders. He'd never seen an officer with clothes that fit.
“Would you be able to put a call through to Farnham Daneel?” he asked.
“Of course. Which ship are you with?”
“The Philboyd.”
“And your name?”
“Raul Merfan,” Ajay said, resisting the urge to scratch his nose.
She raised her communicator to her mouth. “Would Farnham Daneel please make his way to Raul Merfan at dock one, bay fourteen.” The announcement blared out across the station.
“Thank you,” Ajay said, handing the officer a Sol. She looked down at the small square coin then pocketed it.
“And thank you,” she said, smiling. A small favour like that would make most officers turn the other way when making a deal, but he could never rely on that.
Through the stench of ship fuels and lubricants, the aroma of cooked pork and garlic as it drifted across the dock from one of the many food stalls dotted around the edge of the docking floor. His stomach rumbled.
“Raul, I presume?”
Ajay turned to see a thin woman with yellowed skin. She wore a white tunic over a light blue suit.
“Madam Daneel?” he ventured, reaching out a hand. “Please, walk with me to the Philboyd.”
“I won't be boarding your ship,” she said, sharply. “Please bring the items to my craft at bay thirty.”
Ajay looked over to the squat local transport shuttle. “Give me a few minutes.” Suspicious clients were nothing new, but it was necessity to balance caution against profit. Experience told him that dealing with clients in public docking areas was the safest way to do business, even if it meant putting himself at risk from United Solar.
“That's good,” said Farnham. She turned and ambled back to her ship.
Ajay turned to the Segrado's secondary airlock. Covering the movements of his hand, he keyed in the security code then climbed into the hold as the air lock irised open. His eyes adjusted to the gloom as he hopped inside, the ship rocking against its tethers. Moving between two three-metre-cubed shipping crates, he lifted a floor panel and pulled out a leather shoulder bag. Tucking it into his jacket, he slid the floor panel back into place and stepped out of the airlock. He jumped down from the Segrado onto the steel walkway and strode across the dock to bay thirty.
As he reached the ship, he knocked on its open door and waited.
“Please come aboard,” Farnham said, gesturing for Ajay to hurry.
He ducked his head as he climbed through the open airlock. The doors hissed closed behind him.
Ajay ducked his head against the low ceiling. He walked between six rows of seats, all tangled with webbing and emergency oxygen tubes, soft carpet bouncing beneath his feet. They reached a vestibule where they could both stand straight, the cockpit on the other side of the single-panelled door.
“Can I see the item?” she asked.
Ajay pulled the leather bag from his jacket and handed it to Farnham. She opened the bag with trembling hands and frowned. “Is this a joke?” she asked, pulling out a hand-sized wooden pig.
�
��No joke,” he said, sidling up to her. “I'm an art dealer, remember?”
He squeezed the pig's nose and tail between his finger and thumb. The carving clicked and the torso swung open, revealing a hidden compartment containing a vial of clear liquid.
Farnham gasped as she took the bottle between her fingers. “And this is bio-equivalent? This will do exactly what the Muedin meds do?”
Ajay rubbed his chin. “Not quite. We used to do bio-equivalent, but things have moved on — this is better. All the Muedin drugs will ever do is keep the tumours stable. They won't kill you, but you're reliant. I think you already know that.”
Farnham squinted, pursing her lips.
“We don't want to fuel reliance. You won't have to come to us again, and you certainly won't have to deal with Muedin again — at least as far is your cancer goes.”
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying that you take this as you would your usual meds. Granted, you'll feel lousy for a few weeks, but once the drug and the cancer are out of your system, you should feel much better.”
Farnham tilted her head and regarded the vial for several seconds. “I'm not sure. I've never done anything like this before. I mean—.”
“You mean because we're Purdah? Don't believe what you hear about us, Madam Daneel. It's your choice. There's a lot of misinformation about our operation.”
“Well—.” Farnham paused and scratched behind her ear. “They say you're trying to undermine trade.”
Ajay smiled. “Where we can, but we're not against trade — we're traders, after all. Trade is important. What we are against is monopolies — monopolies of products, monopolies of ideas. We go after groups like Muedin, Aghoro, Yao — any of the so-called Affiliates that stifle trade, innovation, and ultimately work against the citizens.”
“That's not what they've been saying.”
“Take your condition: Muedin has had a cure for a long time — I should know, we stole their research. But what did they do with that knowledge? Did they help you?”
Farnham shook her head.
The Slip: The Complete First Season Page 10
