by Mel Odom
He attempted to get to his feet and I heard the left leg whining again. I offered my hand. He hesitated a moment, then accepted my help.
“Anyone looking for us?” he asked.
“Not that I have seen.”
Hayim pulled his envirosuit on, wobbly for a time before he managed it. I followed him to the airlock. Transit authority secmen had stepped off the train, but they seemed more interested in stretching their legs than in watching the passengers.
Gazing through the transplas, I scanned the train. The pulling engine was a manta ray turned on its axis like it was gliding under the sea. Whoever had created it had made good use of the spatial restrictions required by the engine. Several of the passengers hadn’t ever seen it before. They stopped and took pictures of it with their PADs.
I stopped in front of the uniformed conductor, a bored woman who was scanning e-tickets into a PAD.
“Pardon me,” I said.
She looked up. “Can I help you?”
“Can I get back to the baggage car from here?”
“You won’t be riding back there—” She scanned my e-ticket. “—Norris 1JA5NU. Out here, everyone rides in the passenger cars. You won’t be requiring a sleeping compartment, right?”
“No.”
“Then feel free to roam about the rest of the train. Respect the privacy of those who have sleeping compartments. Enjoy your trip.”
“Thank you.” I stepped into the train behind Hayim.
“Welcome to the frontier,” my companion said to me. “Out here, the division between human, clone, and bioroid isn’t quite a distinction the way it is in the colonies or back on Earth. In this place, we’re all equal, all just chaff for the mill to grind until we’re of no further use.” He grinned at me, but I heard the bitterness in his words.
The first passenger car was already filled with passengers. They sat three to a side in comfortable chairs beneath overhead storage. The heating unit kicked on to combat the below freezing conditions outside the train. I followed Hayim toward the rear of the train. Most of the other passengers headed forward.
“We’re not walking the same direction as the majority of other boarders,” I said.
Hayim shook his head. “The newbies still think sitting closer to the pulling engine will get them extra heat. It doesn’t. The engine runs on solar power and doesn’t add anything to the ambient temperature of the passenger cars. It’s self-contained, cut off from the rest of the train. And they also think that if the atmosphere is lost inside the cars, which sometimes happens, that they’ll be all right.” He grunted in displeasure. “They don’t know that each car can be sealed off from the other. That way, if passengers have to be lost, they can lose them but the cargo can still get through. Unless they’re hauling livestock. Then everything dies.”
I pulled down the train safety regulations from the Net and scanned through them as I followed Hayim through an airlock to the next train car. The airlock opened and closed automatically. According to the operations manual, in the event of the loss of atmosphere in one car, the airlocks would automatically seal, preventing subsequent forfeiture by other cars.
We walked through two other passenger cars, then three sleeping compartments that were little more than the motel crypts put into a car. Some of the passengers were already crawling into them, flopping down and sliding back into hiding with electronic hums.
“These are the frequent travelers,” Hayim said. “It’s a thousand miles out to the fringes. Twenty-six hours of non-stop red dust Martian sandscape, with only the mountains to break up the monotony. You won’t find them peering through transplas hoping to see something they’ve never seen before. They’ll be right there until we debark.”
I nodded. “What do you mean frequent travelers? I thought these were colonists.”
“Some of them are. Some of them, like these people, are part of the corps’ terraforming crew. They cycle in and out because they can afford to. The other people on this train are riding one way. They’ll probably never get enough cred to come back. Or, if they do, they’ll never find another job unless they pick up a trade that can be used somewhere else or promote through a corp.”
“If this is a one-way trip, why do they come?” I peered back down the passageway through the airlock at the people taking seats in the last car.
“Because they have nowhere else to go.” Hayim looked up at me with cruel amusement. “Welcome to Mars, planet of opportunities.” He slapped a palm against a sleeper unit that had a green light, announcing that it was still open. “Get this one for me.”
I slotted the credstick I had, then Hayim punched in a name that I knew was not his own. He waited tensely for a moment, then the sleeper unit flashed green in acceptance.
“I didn’t know if that name was still in the train system.”
I didn’t say anything.
“He could be leaving a trail,” Shelly warned.
I knew that, but I didn’t have many options regarding trusting Hayim. And I was certain that he didn’t want law enforcement attention any more than I did.
“That credstick of yours still have enough on it to purchase me a meal plan?” Hayim asked.
“Yes.” Although the amount on the credstick had been seriously drained, I wasn’t yet worried about having funds. I wouldn’t need much, and I had more than enough for return passage.
“Then let’s go to the dining car.” Hayim led the way.
* * *
There were two dining cars set up aboard the train. One forward in the line of cars, and one toward the end. The sleeper compartment cars were more centrally located. The container cars loaded with cargo were just behind the pulling engine.
“The cargo is put up there so it’s more protected,” Shelly told me. “That tells you the value the transportation corps put on human life.”
I tried not to think about that too much, but that was difficult because I was programmed to protect human life. Knowing that people were berthed in the rear cars because they were held in lower regard than cargo was uncomfortable.
“Families have children,” Shelly said. “They naturally replace themselves. Cargo doesn’t. If one of those cars of modified seeds is lost, colonists will face starvation or—at the very least—exorbitant prices for the replacement shipment. Everything here is done for a profit.”
Knowing that the cargoes were so valuable helped ease my discomfort a little, but not much. I balanced out the lives of the many versus the lives of the few, but I still didn’t like working those equations.
I felt out of place in the dining car, which was set up with tables and seats bolted to the floor on either side. The only bioroids in the car other than myself worked as servers. Curious about the lack of human workers, I accessed the Net and pulled down information about the Martian trains. According to what I learned, the transportation corps preferred bioroid servers because they didn’t require rest or nourishment and were therefore cheaper to maintain on the long runs to the fringes.
Hayim chose a small table to the side and I joined him. He took a napkin from the table and laid it across his lap, then punched up the menu on the tabletop. He perused the offerings for a moment after I slotted my credstick, then made his selections.
I peered past him through the transplas window at the wide openness of Mars. Red dust existed as far as I could see, and the sun looked small and far away. A dust devil swept up out of nowhere and began peppering the train with small debris. A red warning light pulsed across the window, letting people know the protective metal shields rose from their recesses to protect the transplas.
“Stupid thing, putting windows on a train that goes across a thousand miles of some of the bleakest, harshest land you’ll ever live to see,” Hayim told me. Then he pointed around at the other people in the dining car that were using handheld devices. “But letting solar power into the cars beats having to provide outlets for all the toys.” He knuckled a fist and rapped it against one of his bionic legs. “And it k
eeps these powered up.”
I nodded.
A moment later, a female bioroid with only a bare minimum of human features carried a tray to our table. She was a June model, designed for taking care of families and servicing the needs of others. Her nameplate announced her name as June. No one had even bothered to give her a name of her own.
She sat out a bulb of whatever liquid refreshment Hayim had chosen at his elbow, then a plate of soy-sub designed to look like a steak.
“Will there be anything else?” June asked.
“No,” Hayim said, picking up the bulb. “Thank you.”
June nodded and walked away, turning her attention to another table, clicking through the checklist built into her subroutines to make sure her guests were well cared for.
“Do you know what this is?” Hayim held up the bulb for my inspection.
I studied the label and scanned the barcode. “Apple cider. Manufactured by TasteeGene, a subsidiary of SolSystems 32, a corp that specializes in beverages, fruits, and vegetables, and also a supplier of seed stock to Mars and hydroponics on the Moon.” I could have told him more, but I presumed he would ask if he needed further information.
Hayim laughed. “Wrong. TasteeGene ships flavored powder to Mars because shipping liquid weight through space is a negative investment. There’s only so much water on a planet. Earth corps don’t want to give Martians anymore hydration than they have to. So they send the powder and we use it to flavor our water.”
I didn’t understand what his point was, so I waited.
“Know where the train gets the water?” he asked.
My immediate response would have been the train station, then a quick check through the schematics of that place told me that was not the case.
“From the train,” Hayim said when I did not answer. “Each train has a certain amount of water. The passengers use some of that water when they drink it or bathe in it or flush the toilet. The water gets recycled in a reclamation car—which is right behind the pulling engine because water is one of the most valuable commodities carried on the train—then pushed back through the cars. Shortly before we reach our final destination, the train corp will offer complementary beverages that are filled with hydrochlorothiazide designed to cause frequent urination.” He smiled grimly. “They hope to maximize their water retention on the train by draining the passengers.”
“That seems logical.”
Hayim laughed. “That’s because you don’t have to drink other people’s urine and bath water.” He broke the tip off the bulb and took a healthy drink.
“Attention, all passengers. The train will be leaving the station in five minutes. Please secure all baggage.” The mechanical warning echoed through the train, then repeated.
I felt the surge of electromagnetism pulse through the table. Hayim cursed and adjusted his plate with difficulty because the magnetism locked it down and made it harder to move. He sliced his soy-steak and continued eating.
“The way you handled those tech vultures last night tells me you’re no stranger to fighting.” Hayim eyed me speculatively.
“No.” I didn’t offer any further explanation.
“You’ve been a mercenary?”
“I’d rather not discuss myself.”
“It’s going to be a long trip.”
“You’re going to be in your sleeping compartment after you eat. You won’t notice the trip.”
Hayim grinned. “I’ll be in the sleeping compartment after I have a shower. I’m not going to crawl in there and sleep in my own stink.”
I didn’t say anything.
The train blared a final warning and I heard the extended airlock from the train station uncouple. I accessed the train’s exterior public vid cams put there so passengers could watch outside and watched as the airlock pulled back into the building. A passenger hopper was just dropping off a fresh load of prospective passengers that trudged toward the building.
“It’s always interesting finding out why people took up the mercenary business,” Hayim said.
His words took me away and I was no longer in the train car. Instead, I was once more seeing through Simon Blake’s limited perspective.
Chapter Eighteen
I sat in a small booth with Mara Parker. She regarded me over a bulb of wine, her eyes deep and thoughtful.
The weightless sensation in my stomach pulsed uncomfortably. I knew in a moment that we were in space. Around us, other people gathered in booths and at tables, chatting with one another or working on PADS, and I knew we were traveling on a premium voyage that allowed passengers to roam reserved sections of a large intra-system cruiser that had been constructed in space and would not survive planetfall.
Normally passengers opted for crypt travel, spending most of their time in VR, either in sensies or in telepresence contact with their employers or corps. Electro-stimulation kept their bodies in shape, working muscles and providing isometric muscle exercises that helped prevent the loss of bone density.
Dressed in a simple burgundy one-piece, Mara looked beautiful. I felt Simon’s arousal toward her, filtered through a matrix in my subroutines that dealt with sex crimes, and the response made me feel uncomfortable. I knew that instinctive attraction between the genders was not an evil thing. That attraction promoted the survival of the human species. It was what an individual did with his or her sexuality that turned to perversion.
I had no feelings about prostitution. Homicides, though, were another matter.
“Are you nervous, Simon?” Mara’s teeth were very white and her breath was sweetly alcoholic.
I wanted to say no because I wasn’t, but Simon answered. “Maybe a little.”
“Of being out here?” Mara raised an eyebrow.
“Of being with you.”
She laughed at him. At me. And I realized then that this was a form of courtship that I had seen between Shelly and her husband. Their words said one thing, but the language was something they had created between them that spoke of history and trust and hope. Their children hadn’t understood it either. It had always reminded me that I was an outsider, though Shelly went to great pains to include me in her family when she invited me.
“Why would you be nervous about being with me?” Mara asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be.”
“All right.”
She sipped from the wine bulb again. “I have to say, I was surprised when you accepted my offer. I didn’t think I would get you away from John Rath.”
“Even after you offered him fifteen percent of your company?”
“Even after that.” She paused. “The two of you seem…very close.”
“We’ve spent a lot of time together.”
“How long have you been together?”
“On Mars?”
“No. Altogether.”
I searched for an answer and couldn’t find it. The scant information I’d turned up in my search on John Rath didn’t have a lot of hard data. Too much information had been lost in the wars.
“A long time,” Simon said.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Why are you asking it?”
Mara took another sip of her drink before she replied. “Rath is a…complicated man.”
I felt Simon’s smile spread across his lips, but I knew he wasn’t satisfied with her interests. “You’re attracted to him.”
“Why do you say that?”
Simon shrugged. “It’s all right. A lot of women are.”
“Do you truly think so?”
“I’ve seen it.”
“Do you think I find him attractive?”
“How could you not?”
Mara smiled. “He’s arrogant, selfish, and can be ill-mannered.”
“A lot of women like those things about John.”
Mara shook her head sadly. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not most women
, Simon. Whatever purely animal magnetism John Rath might possess, and he does have those things, is far outweighed by my recognition of his faults. John Rath would be a dalliance, a blip on my social radar, if I so choose.”
“He would have to choose, too.”
“Men don’t have as many choices as women do.” She smiled. “You’re more…hardwired for sexual conquest than women are.”
I had no argument for that, and neither—apparently—did Simon. He sipped his own bulb, but it contained flavored water, not wine or anything alcoholic.
“For myself, I’d much prefer a man who could complement me. Who could make me more than I would ever be on my own.” Her eyes flashed. “And I’d want a man, if I so chose, who could keep me safe.”
“A commendable list.”
She laughed. “But it’s one that’s hard to fill, I’m afraid.” She pulled her dark hair back out of her eyes.
She was the subject of the attentions of several men and a few of the women in the public area. Simon found her fascinating. I felt his elevated pulse, and his attraction to her kept pinging my filters with a dissonance I had not ever felt before. I was not comfortable with it.
Despite Simon’s infatuation with Mara, I kept my attention on the room. All of my memories of Mara included some kind of near-death experience. And one of them had been a death experience eight years ago. Simon and Mara had been married for six years before that had happened, though, and he’d died of an assassin’s bullet, not of the hopper crash that had been used to cover up the murder.
Someone somewhere, I was certain, was waiting to kill her.
“You know a lot about neural channeling,” Mara said. “Where did you learn?”
When he’d been with Mara, Simon had also helped work on the new neural channeling interface with MirrorMorph, Inc. I didn’t have any background on Simon Blake either. He was almost as much of a cipher as John Rath. Except for his death, which had been covered in lies and half-truths. I still remembered him gasping out his life in the hospital as Mara uploaded his personality to make the Drake models.
There were other Drakes, usually working in security fields. I was the only one who had been licensed to the NAPD. And I was certain I was the only one who remembered Simon Blake so intimately.
