by Scott Rhine
Yuki stared at the immobile nurse. “O-kay. Four things. First, cute hats.”
Mercy replied, “Thanks. I can teach you how to make your own.”
“Me, too!” demanded the artist.
“Second, Sojiro only asked me to bring the airbrush with the gold and sepia paints for the background, but I brought your entire paint case because I know you’ll sneak in a splash of some other color.”
“Oh, gimme,” Sojiro said. “I will need some subtle blush for Mercy’s face glow.” He began rummaging through the stock of colors.
“Scary how well I know him. Third, since nobody asked, I’m going to be ‘Winged Victory,’ standing alone.”
“Isn’t she totally armless?” asked Mercy.
“Yeah, but I like the symbolism,” Yuki said, “And lastly, what’s with Yvette?”
“She’s processing,” said Mercy. “Sun bonnets?”
Yvette sat like a statue while the others wove clumsy, floppy hats. Yuki used her good hand and one foot to replicate the technique. Sojiro added his own flourishes, including a bundle of large, white feathers.
“You look like a pimp,” Yuki said. “I’m loving this fashion event, but I have work to do, guys. Not all of us have pilot salaries to draw from. Until I can volunteer for high-risk duty, I have to put in extra hours as a gopher. Toby isn’t allowed to fetch things for himself.”
At the mention of the criminal, Sojiro excused himself from the room.
Mercy watched for signs of reaction in her friend Yvette, but she remained silent. “What’s Toby doing now? How does he look?”
“His bone calcium is lower than anyone but Ole’s because he refuses to exercise. He’s depressed because Yvette won’t open any of his emails,” Yuki confided. “I think he writes an apology a day. In his spare time, he’s designing improvements to his own medication.”
“They let him do that?”
“The meds we brought are a little old-fashioned: interlocking mirrors of the same molecule. He wants to manufacture just the right half, claiming there’ll be fewer side effects. Work calms him. The medicine fabricators aren’t used much, but Pratibha makes him pay for every experiment—the stingy bitch.”
“You’re sticking up for him?”
“No. I’m saying power is going to the czar’s head. She’s already making noises about not giving your baby an allotment because it’s not a crew member.”
“What?” Mercy dropped the hat she’d been weaving, and a row unraveled. “Why?”
Yuki shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t like that you donated your share to my sensor fund. I’ll pay you back some day, I swear.”
“How did you know I did that? It was anonymous.”
“You’re the only one who’s been wearing the same damn shirt all month.”
“My other clothes are too tight. New ones wouldn’t help me now; I’d just outgrow them. Pretty soon, I’m going to have to take off my underwear or it’ll get permanently stretched out of shape. I’m putting it off because it’ll make Lou horny all the time. He calls it ‘easy access.’”
Rolling her eyes, Yuki said, “Like he needs an excuse. I’m sure those incredible growing breasts of yours lit his fire weeks ago. I’ll bet you two have as much sex as the rest of the camp combined.”
Mercy blushed and refused to comment.
Pushing a small cart full of grain bundles into the barn, Sojiro changed the subject for her. “What are you going to call little Lou?”
“If it’s a girl, Amelia Earhart. If it’s a boy, Lancelot Stewart.”
“Lancelot? Ack.”
“My husband’s real first name is Kai and my father was Percival. It’s an Arthurian theme.”
“And Lou signed off on continuing the cruelty to the next generation?”
“He’s lobbying for Angus, which means lamb. I never understood why ranchers use that name for beef.”
“Stewart or beef. Either way, we can call him ‘Stew,’” Sojiro joked. “He’ll like it because it rhymes with ‘Lou.’”
“You are not nicknaming my baby before he’s even born.”
Yvette spoke, like thunder out of a clear sky. “She’s jealous.”
“What?” asked Mercy.
“Pratibha’s been trying to have a child of her own,” Yvette informed them. “You succeeded without trying and before getting married. You’ve offended her sense of morals and fair play, but mainly, she’s jealous.”
“I think you’re right,” Mercy said.
Yuki rose to her feet. “Well, as much fun as we’ve had with girl time, I have to get back to the grind.”
“What’s your next task?” Mercy asked, glancing at the cart.
“We thresh the grain that has dried enough. Sojiro works the blower while I beat the stalks and toss them in the air.”
“The dried grass blows away, but the grain falls,” said Mercy, excited.
“Yes.”
“We can help.”
While they were working, Park stopped by and presented Yuki with a bundle of handwritten pages. Puzzled, she flipped through the heavy math to reach the drawings at the end. “Long rods pounded into the ground at different distances from the same gravity generator… this describes a proof-of-concept heater.”
Park shrugged. Softly, he mumbled, “It’s sort of like demonstrating electricity from a potato—not very practical, but it shows you had a good idea.”
“Wow. You’re amazingly smart. I can’t begin to grasp half of these equations,” Yuki said, smoothing out her hair. For the first time since Mercy had met her, Yuki actually seemed shy. “Thank you,” she said with a delicate bow that showed off a tiny bit more skin than it should have.
“I won’t disturb you further,” Park said, excusing himself hurriedly.
Mercy’s only comment was, “He must have used up his whole word quota for a month.”
The hours of farm work made them perspire more than Mercy thought possible. She used the word ‘torrid,’ and Yuki teased her about it for the rest of the afternoon while they winnowed grain. Their sweat made bits of chaff stick to them like confetti at a parade. Her skin itched as bad as the ivy marks on her ankles.
The moment they finished, Mercy tore off her T-shirt to reveal the sports underwear she used for swimming. Jogging to the docks, she squealed, “Last one in is a rotten egg!”
All three of the women’s hats blew off in the race. Yuki fell behind quickly, unused to any daily fitness regimen. Yvette beat Mercy by a nose and cannon-balled off the side of the pier first . . . only to land in the mud flats a meter from the actual water. The farther the ship traveled through space and consumed the water as fuel, the more the lake receded.
Mercy launched off the end of the pier into the clear shallows. When she spotted the mud dripping from her friend’s backside and legs, she pointed and giggled like a schoolgirl. The nurse responded by slinging a mud ball at her chest.
“Ouch,” Mercy complained.
Yuki hid on the pier behind the whiteboard people used to sign out the raft. Puffing heavily, she said, “You guys are going to have to take off any clothes that get dirty. Leave me out of this, and I’ll bring you towels to wear.”
The next mud missile hit a piling and splattered Mercy’s knees. This time, Yvette burst out laughing.
“Think you’re tough, huh?” Mercy challenged. “I had three younger sisters, and I know how to mud-wrestle. We played a game called ‘Spank the Alligator,’ and I was Shanna the Jungle Queen.”
“Dear Penthouse, I thought it was going to be just another boring day at the beach,” came Lou’s voice from beneath the pier.
Herk said, “Five euros on the dirty blonde. She’s taken Krav Maga training.”
Both men had been lurking under the pier for some strange reason.
Yvette covered her mud-spattered bra with crossed arms and backed toward the shelter of the raft.
From the hammock slung under the pier, Lou said, “Naw, my money’s on the brunette. She can find where anyone i
s ticklish.”
Mercy strode forward, helping to block the nurse from view. “Kai Llewellyn, what are you doing down there? Are you supposed to be checking fish traps? Is that beer?”
Smiling, Lou gestured broadly. “Welcome to the Sand Bar, the best place in Sanctuary to cool a keg . . . or it was.”
Herk rose from his stump-stool and climbed the ladder to the decking. Without his shirt on, everyone could see his wife’s name tattooed inside a heart shape on his chest. “Bro, she just used your full name. That’s my cue to disappear.”
Yuki echoed, “Me, too.”
Mercy slogged closer, trying to lower her voice so the security guard wouldn’t hear. “Pratibha is trying to deny the baby’s allotment. If you keep loafing, we won’t have anything saved when the baby arrives.”
“This is how pilots wait and unwind.”
“I’ve heard. You boys sit around like construction workers without tools, hitting on women. You won’t have another jump for six months.”
“I’m not the one giving my allotment away to the enemy.”
“Yuki’s been a good friend to both of us, and she needs help. Grow up.”
“You control freak. You can’t plan out every minute of my life. I’m not a three year old!”
“A three year old would listen!” she said, raising her voice for the first time. “If you keep unwinding every day, your beer belly is going to be bigger than mine.”
Yvette put her recently rinsed fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply. “Stop. One at a time. I can teach you how to fight. Every couple needs to learn that. It can take years of trial and ugly error on your own. Avoid using the word ‘you’, and take turns expressing your goals and emotions. For example, Mercy doesn’t want to control you. She wants to spend more time with you and plan your lives together. She wants your marriage to be a success.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Mercy agreed.
“Those sound like positive things if you’re not nagging,” Lou mumbled.
Yvette held Mercy back. “That tone probably creeps in because she’s worried you won’t come back some night.”
“Ridiculous. She’s the only person in this world I can see. She changed my whole coordinate system. In GPS terms, she’s home.” The adoration in his face proved the truth of the statement.
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Mercy said, melting.
The nurse continued. “Lou thinks the bar lifestyle is part of his identity, and he doesn’t want you to try to change him. Closer to the truth is that unless he can boast about something to other men, it didn’t happen. He’s probably bragging about you. Compromise for now: let him have one hour a week free time and one beer. The rest is negotiable.”
“Sounds fair,” Mercy said meekly.
Climbing out of the lake, Yvette said, “I’m heading back for a shower. You two can talk things out like adults.”
“You were really bragging about me?” Mercy asked.
“Yeah,” Lou said, still breathing heavily from the argument. “You smell great. Can you tell me more about this jungle queen game?”
Grinning wickedly, she used the remainder of his beer to rinse off her stomach and legs. “If you want to finish your drink, first you have to find it.”
They kissed and fell back into Lou’s hammock. He nuzzled her neck, and she responded with a blissful moan. “Warmer.” After several hungry sounds, and a practiced touch, Mercy’s bra leapt off. There was no trace of the stolen brew on either nipple; however, he took the fingers laced in his hair as a hint to search these very thoroughly. “Close. Oh, so close.”
He found a small pool of alcohol in her belly button but kept searching industriously for the rest.
****
That evening Mercy knocked on the dormitory door, scratching her lower back and behind. Oleander covered her mouth to hide a laugh. “Sand fleas from sex on the beach?”
“Sun poisoning, I think. My whole backside is itchy with welts.”
Yvette snickered and rummaged through her shelf for a remedy.
“You were on top?” Oleander guessed.
“Yeah, evidently the dock had lots of holes where the afternoon sun could get through.”
Oleander took a peek at the reddish bumps. “Ouch. You burned this much in fifteen minutes?”
“Makeup sex lasts at least an hour or it’s not considered sincere.”
“I hate you,” said the only female member of the security team.
“I can’t find my tea leaves for the poultice,” Yvette said.
“Oh, Yuki took the tea to Olympus to help keep her awake tonight,” explained Oleander.
“I’ll have to hike up to the falls to get more,” Yvette complained.
Oleander replied, “Regulations require people to travel in pairs. I’d escort you, but I’m on duty in less than three hours.”
Mercy was quick to offer, “If you can apply the anti-itch treatment in the field, I’ll go with you now.”
“Let me put on my boots,” said Yvette, changing into outdoor clothes. Exercise would lighten the dark mood that had been creeping up on her, releasing much-needed endorphins and serotonin.
“Why aren’t you still snuggling with Captain Fantastic?” asked Oleander.
“He’s snoring already, but between this heat and scratching myself raw, I can’t sleep.”
“So you’d do things differently next time?” asked Oleander, eager for some regret.
At week ten on Mercy’s pregnancy calendar, she was perkier than ever. Her face went dreamy. “No, it was a perfect day. I’ll always remember it.”
As Yvette led the way into the hills holding Mercy’s hand like a grade-schooler, she decided that she would rank today pretty high as well. She could feel the younger woman’s optimistic glow like a second sun. No one could be depressed on an evening like this.
About twenty minutes from camp, and halfway around the Counterweight Mountain, Mercy had emptied the canteen, “God, this heat’s terrible. I need more to drink.”
Yvette took a trail branch that doubled back toward the waterfall. “Maybe a dip in the cool water will help.”
The climb seemed particularly hard on Mercy, whose face went flush. Soon, the pregnant woman doubled over in agony. The mental shriek through the Collective link was worse. Yvette went to her own knees, feeling her friend’s abdominal pain as her own. Dehydration, hives, fever, cramps—Mercy is losing the baby. Holding her own screams in check, Yvette slapped the emergency-broadcast button on her badge. “Auckland! Medical emergency.”
“Go,” the doctor responded.
Week ten was when a male fetus started producing testosterone, before any sonogram could detect the gender. In rare cases, this hormonal trigger could cause extreme reactions in multi-talents. “I think Mercy’s carrying a boy. Her body’s going into full-blown rejection.”
“How long has she been experiencing symptoms?”
Yvette rolled on the ground, growling, trying to convince her body that the pain was fictional before she could form her reply. I’m so stupid. “This morning. Thought the causes were poison ivy and sun poisoning. Argh. It’s chewing her insides out.”
“You have to get her to Olympus in the next hour, or we could lose them both.”
Mercy’s screech punctuated this fact.
The nurse’s tears obscured her vision. “We’re near the summit. If I get her down, Herk can use the cart to run her the rest of the way.” The pain kicked her in the gut again. “Tell him he’ll need his Override talent because she’s broadcasting hard.”
Oleander interrupted on the common channel, “I’ll get the cart ready while Herk jogs up to meet you.”
The elevator to Olympus was over three kilometers away. If she did nothing for the time it took Herk to run up, Mercy and the baby might die. “The gravity this far up is low enough that I think I can manage a fireman’s carry.”
With tremendous effort, she slung her friend’s body over her shoulder. The change in position actuall
y made both women breathe easier. Yvette took seven trembling steps before the uneven ground twisted beneath her. Cartilage popped, and she smashed into the rocky path. Both women cried out in pain, but Yvette managed to keep her arms around Mercy’s head as they fell. “Sorry. My bad knee. Oh. Somebody help!”
Chapter 7 – Good Lassie
Yuki had programmed Snowflake to scan nearby asteroids and comets so she could map their compositions. It was good practice, and Earth might be able to use the data. The visible portion of the star system would take months to process. Each shift, she only needed five minutes to read the latest summary, leaving her with almost eight hours to watch paint dry. To draw extra pay, she stocked shelves in the Olympus infirmary with raw chemicals and proteins that Toby would need for his experiments. Toby was already off-duty, locked in his large storage-room cell for the night, and communications with him were restricted. She couldn’t talk to Auckland much because laughter sent him into wheezing fits, and Pratibha reordered the fabricator queues if Yuki flirted in anyway. This duty was like babysitting an eighty-year-old man. Currently, the blue-tinged Dr. Auckland lay on the sick bay cot, reading a biography of some South African soccer player Toby had recommended.
Using her best seduction skills, Yuki tried to get Park to chat. “Why is an engineer training to be a pilot? Usually they’re not bold enough.”
“Have to feel the controls for myself in order to design it properly or fix problems.”
“Your pilot call sign, Wizard, sounds so impressive. How did you earn it?”
“Red’s fault,” he replied.
“What, did she tell everyone you were magic in the sack or a technical whiz?”
He rolled his eyes. “My name is Woo Jin. When she asked some D&D geek what it meant, she pronounced it Wu Jen.”
