Off Rock

by Kieran Shea

  Bristling, Jock grabbed Jimmy by the front of his jumper.

  “Are you calling me some kind of a finky rat?”

  Jock’s outburst was startling, but from his rugby days Jimmy knew how to break a hold. With a quick upward spread of his arms he tore Jock’s bony hands off his jumper and thrust him backward. The leggy Swedes on his workstation screen fell into motion as Jock crashed back into his desk and a cooing, orgasmic refrain filled the room.

  “Sheesh—what’s wrong with you, man?” Jimmy said. “I’m not calling you a rat or anything. We’re partners, Jock, don’t you get that? And as a partner I think I’m entitled to know exactly which bay you intend on using and the coordinates of the final destination back on Earth. Cripes, going and grabbing me like that, you’re lucky I didn’t knock your teeth out. And Zaafer, when exactly were you going to tell me about him, huh?”

  Jock wiped some spittle from his mouth. “I would’ve gotten around to it.”

  “Oh, sure. You would’ve gotten around to it. The point is I shouldn’t have to ask.”

  “Okay, okay… I’m sorry.”

  “Just give me the damn coordinates and tell me which armadillo bay. Now that I’m thinking about it, give me all the information on your contact back in Hong Kong too, that Hoo-Hoo Minnie lady.”

  “Min-Min Ho.”

  “Whatever. Just write all that stuff down.”

  Weaving, Jock turned and deactivated the orgy on his workstation. He pulled up several files and subscreens. It took a few minutes’ worth of typing and transcribing, but he scribbled everything down on a greasy napkin. Jock handed the napkin to Jimmy.

  “Armadillo Bay H, huh?”

  “Yeah, Bay H as in hellfire and horseradish and humble. It’ll go into the quarantine hold on whatever tender ends up being docked there.”

  “I’m going to check these coordinates, Jock.”

  “No doubt you will.”

  “And this Hong Kong dragon lady contact information as well.”

  “Oh, right.” Jock chortled sourly. “And just how do you expect to do that?”

  “Well, I could scan the datawells and dip into the station mainframes. If I do a rudimentary residential pull of archival news or a standard capitation-tax search, this Min-Min woman is bound to turn up somewhere.”

  Jock hung his head. “Jimmy, you are so out of your element.”

  “Huh?”

  “Min-Min is part of the underworld, mate. What, you think someone in her line of trade just hangs out her shingle or is foolish enough to expose herself with stuff like paying taxes? Get bloody bent. Min-Min is a ghost.”

  Annoyed, Jimmy jammed the napkin into his pocket. “So I guess I just have to take it on faith you’re telling me the truth about her until we get back to the Neptune Pact Orbital, then.”

  “I’m not lying to you, Jimmy.”

  Yeah, right.

  Something still felt off—way off. And out of his element? What was all that about?

  Then again, maybe Jock was telling him the truth. When Jimmy returned to base with the gold, Jock would be at just as much risk as Jimmy, so perhaps he should relax and give the man a break. Jock was going through some serious withdrawal and looked like he was going to be sick again at any second. Yeah, it wasn’t something he was proud of, but things slipped Jimmy’s mind too when he tied one on. Jimmy figured there was not much more he could do but proceed with a watchful degree of skepticism. He made for the hatch.

  “Jeez, take an antacid and drink some water or something. We’re on the clock now, Jock. Be ready.”

  9. THE SWEATY BETTYS

  On the residential spider’s gym treadmills before starting work, or whenever she felt a good workout might alleviate some of her accumulated stress, nine times out ten Leela Pendergast listened to drums.

  Primal rhythms. Thuds and repetitive whacks. Drums were the pulse of life, and Leela believed percussive bangs and throbs helped her modulate the salubrious intensities of her workouts. Usually she liked to keep the volume on her earbuds on high, so when the woman started running on the treadmill directly adjacent to her, Leela paid little notice. Ever deferential to her Azoick responsibilities, she kept her eyes glued on two overhead VDT screens, as earlier she’d cued the two giant displays into a locked-in live shot of ASOCC and a serial feed of all the surrounding surface sites. A full to-do list was ahead of her once she completed her run.

  “Nice glutes.”

  Not breaking her stride, Leela quickly swiveled her head to the right. She didn’t recognize the tall, regal-looking woman revving up the treadmill next to her. A lemon leotard with black stripes and matching Apoidea-themed leggings, the woman’s workout ensemble was quite the eyeful. With buffed arms, full lips, and a sumptuous mane of blonde hair the woman reminded Leela of a classic movie starlet as she popped out one of her earbuds.

  “Did you say something?”

  The woman gave her a furtive smile and finished fingering a program into the treadmill’s controls. “I said, nice glutes. I guess you work out a lot.”

  Leela glanced up at the VDT screens. Dabbing the back of her wrist across her forehead, she said, “Well, you know, it kind of pays off out here.”

  The woman nodded and matched Leela’s speed and incline. “Oh, I know, right? Not everybody takes care of themselves. Why take care of yourself when you can eat it at any moment? I don’t know. Maybe there wouldn’t be so many health claims if people pushed themselves more often.”

  “Exactly.”

  The woman gestured to Leela’s earbuds. “So what’re you listening to?”

  Leela unhooked the second periwinkle-sized earbud from her other ear and let the connecting wire drop to the back of her neck. “Oh, this? Don’t laugh, but I’m listening to drums.”

  “Drums?”

  “Yeah. The beats help my concentration.”

  “Gee, that’s different. What kind?”

  “What?”

  “What kind of drums?”

  Leela shrugged. “All types, I guess. Different time signatures. Catchy rubato solos and quick marches. Today it’s khols and idakkas synced with my pulse. My mother’s relatives hail from Darjeeling. When I’m back home she likes to load me up with file samples of traditional Indian music. Are you new?”

  Mirroring Leela’s tempo on the treadmill the woman answered, “Yeah, just in from my skip. Solar parasols. Me and the two other members of my team are scheduled to launch the parasols post-blow for some study.”

  Leela didn’t respond. Like most, Azoick’s idea to bring in freelancers for any work left more than a slightly bad taste in her mouth. In spite of all their shareholder puffery, the cost-cutting decision seemed shortsighted and Leela felt the move undercut morale of the regular staff. Now, as an acting JSC, she realized she wasn’t supposed to knock such corporate verdicts, but it was hard to shake one’s convictions when it came to scabs. Giving the blonde stranger a half-hearted thumbs-up, Leela powered on and asked, “Got a name?”

  “I’m Piper.”

  “Nice to meet you, Piper. I’m Leela.”

  “Leela, that’s a pretty name. Is that short for something?” Leela groaned. “Leelawati, but nobody but my mother ever calls me that, thank heavens.”

  “So what do you do here, Leela?”

  “Junior Surface Coordinator.”

  “Oh. Guess I better mind my manners then,” Piper said.

  “Why?”

  “Well, with a title like that you’re not exactly one of the mopey hoi polloi.”

  Leela waved a hand. “Oh, pooh. It’s not like you freelancers are even in my wheelhouse. Mostly as a JSC I just deal with the regular numbskulls and keep them from costing the company too much.”

  “Been with Azoick long?”

  “Almost eight Earth years.”

  “Really? Eight? That’s some dedication. And all that time in management?”

  “Nah. The JSC position is a recent promotion, but I’ve worked my way up. Anyway, it beats suiting up for
surface work, that’s for sure. So what about you? Parasol work, that can be challenging.”

  “Not really. I used to be an engineer in the Pan-American Legion.”

  “No fooling? The PAL?”

  “Ten tours,” Piper said proudly, “but I had my fill of it. All that factional hot zone work and de-rigging anti-imperialist ordnance. I figured—hey, why not give deep space a try? With my engineering credentials, the parasol training program was a snap. A couple of off-world jobs on Mars and Triton and the next thing you know here I am on the beautiful Kardashev 7-A.”

  The two of them ran in silence for a while, breathing steadily, their gazes parallel. Leela kept glancing at the massive VDT screens and fleetingly thought about reinserting her earbuds, but decided not to as the burn in her muscles told her she was nearly finished. The treadmill would soon initiate her cooldown.

  “I think I heard something about you,” Piper said.

  “Oh?”

  “Mmm, in the canteen. I was hanging out, just getting over the post-stasis tremors when some bartender mentioned something about you and some guy called Jimmy.”

  Leela almost stumbled.

  Did she just say Jimmy?

  My Jimmy?

  Leela slapped the cancel clip on the treadmill and the belt below her feet slowed.

  Damn it, she hated nattering rumor-mongers. Certainly Leela knew petty gossip was derivative of extended isolation and the scant mining populace, but she really wished people on station would just mind their own damn business. Just because her and Jimmy’s relationship hadn’t been a quick hookup, just because it seemed to be something more before Jimmy deep-sixed it altogether, it didn’t give people the right to make light of it. Leela particularly loathed the notion that people might see her as the injured party. As the treadmill’s incline mechanisms lowered, she decelerated to a gawky, stiff strut as Piper went on.

  “Yeah, the bartender said you and this Jimmy guy were an item. Oh, you’re stopping? Gee, that was kind of rude of me. I’m sorry. I was just trying to make conversation. I didn’t mean to upset you or anything.”

  Leela grabbed her towel as her treadmill came to a full arrest. “You didn’t upset me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s totally fine.”

  Piper killed the power on her own treadmill. “Still, I feel sort of embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be,” said Leela. Draping the towel around her neck and gripping both ends, she then asked, “So, did you talk with him?”

  “Who? Jimmy? Oh, no. I just noticed him because, well, he kind of reminded me of someone I used to fight with.”

  “Fight?”

  “The PAL?”

  “Oh, right.”

  Piper bunched her shoulders. “Anyway, when the bartender pointed him out he mentioned you two used to be an item. It’s not as if I was looking at him, you know, in that way. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a good-looking guy and all, but I’m spoken for. I recently got engaged.”

  Piper saw Leela looking at her hand and reached inside her leotard. When she dangled out a thin leather necklace, Leela saw a modest engagement ring along with a beautiful, silver amulet: an ornate triskelion design. As the amulet swayed Leela noticed a barely detectable pareidolic transformation in the amulet’s carved ridges. She couldn’t be sure, but the design looked to be three rabbits. But then the rabbits changed into numbers, then legs, then eyes, then something else. It was beautiful.

  “Nice. I’d think you’d want to display that ring, though. Having it on your finger might keep the wolves on station at bay.”

  Piper stuffed the necklace back in her leotard. “Well, you know how it is when you’re taking space gloves on and off all the time. Anyhow, I’d hate to lose either.”

  “That amulet…”

  “My fiancé gave me the charm before I made my skip.”

  “Absence I guess makes the heart grow fonder, huh?”

  “Hasn’t really sunk in yet with being in stasis for six months, but if everything goes according to our spec brief, it’ll be six whole months or longer before I get back, and I miss him already. Seeing that communications back home are delayed, he filled the amulet with a message.”

  “Oh, it’s a thermal holographic? Aw, I’ve heard about those, that’s so sweet. And expensive. It sounds like your fiancé is a terrific catch.”

  “He most certainly is. We met in the PAL. You’re not supposed to fraternize in the ranks, but we’re both retired now so everything’s cool.”

  “Well,” Leela said. “For what it’s worth, me and Jimmy are history.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “Bad breakup, huh?”

  “More like a lack of communication, actually.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, your ex wasn’t with anyone nearly as attractive as you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah… he was just yapping away with some short-stack baldie with tattoos out the whazoo. Kind of freaky.”

  Leela knew exactly to whom Piper was referring.

  “You mean Jock Roscoe?”

  “Is that who it was? Huh. Hideous-looking little guy.”

  That’s putting it mildly, Leela almost said. It was strange, but Piper’s mentioning Jimmy talking with Jock piqued some mild curiosity. Of course she knew Jimmy had solicited favors from Jock before (at the pissant’s customary steep premiums), but so did a lot of people on station. Well, not everyone. Leela certainly never went near that repugnant twerp. In addition to the obvious illegalities, she didn’t appreciate the way Jock exploited people being so far from home. Nonetheless, Jimmy said that even if Jock came off as a detestable piss-artist, the man did provide a valuable service. Where else could people go if not for him? It was true. It took months, even years, to process personal material requests, and most of the time Azoick shot down those sorts of requests anyway. Leela then remembered how Jimmy recently spent a load of currency units getting that ridiculous ship model kit of his and how he typically tapped Jock to help him keep his terrariums flourishing. Maybe Jimmy was angling for a new fern or looking to start a new project.

  “Roscoe is kind of an under-the-table resource for staff here,” Leela sighed. “But, believe me, that man is hardly trustworthy. It’s best if you steer clear of him, if you can.”

  Piper laughed. “Duly noted.”

  Leela stepped off the treadmill. “Well, I’m on in a few so I’ve got to dash. It was real nice meeting you, Piper. Good luck with your parasol work. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again, probably at the pre-liftoff assembly, if not before.”

  Piper hopped off her treadmill as well. When she took Leela’s offered hand, Leela found her grip surprisingly strong but at the same time soft. Piper’s fingers lingered just long enough to force Leela to withdraw first.

  “Hey, before you head off, could you do me a favor?” Piper asked.

  “Sure. What?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble, can you show me how to work the controls on those things?” Piper pointed to the gym’s two VDT screens. “I’d like to tune in some music or look at something other than whatever’s up there now.”

  Giving her forehead a flippant slap, Leela laughed. “Oh, that’s my bad. I was just checking in on the office. No one’s usually in the gym at this time, so I switched off the usual prepackaged drivel.” Picking up a remote from a shelf near the weight kits Leela pointed the business end at the screens and stopped.

  What the…?

  She toggled the remote’s enlargement button, and all at once it felt as if she were standing on unsteady air. Up on the right-hand screen, the long rectangular transom shields were open at ASOCC, and the view spread out on magnification.

  Moving like a stiff-backed, scarab beetle, an Azoick crawler puttered soundlessly away from base in the direction of the Kappa Quadrant.

  10. THE MINION, INEFFECTUAL

  To the pious, then.

  On completing his firs
t invocation of his daily five, Zaafer Daavi shut down his pocket prayer rug projector and stashed the sugar cube-sized mechanism with its pre-recorded imam files in his jumper’s front pocket. Moving to his desk and lifting a bottle of warm tangerine-tinted seltzer to his lips, Zaafer took a long drink to ease the dull, blunt ache in his stomach.

  While he knew he should have restrained himself from eating too much, after his meeting with Mr. Roscoe the advance bag of candy he’d been given had been far too enticing. Zaafer stayed up most of his sleep cycle feverishly snacking on a good quarter’s worth of the delicacies, tearing and devouring the sweets like a starved jackal shredding a newborn litter of polecats. Half-crazed on a sugar high, he spent several delirious hours salivating, eating, and compulsively organizing the remaining untouched portions of his fresh new stash. First, he chose to arrange the remaining candy alphabetically by brands and then he carefully sorted it by flavors, followed by textures, colors, and finally by molded shapes.

  Overtaken with his spell of glucose-jacked elation, he then found himself inspired to fashion a tiny village out of the remaining candy and populated the hamlet with a frosted assortment of Super Sour Waddlee Wees. Once it was complete, he lorded over his creation and fashioned a narrative in his head. As the village’s sultan and master, he believed the Super Sour Waddlee Wees, the clever infidels, were all guilty of plotting against him. Zaafer staged a mock trial and as punishment for their treacherous perfidy he devoured all the Super Sour Waddlee Wees by decollating each one with his teeth, aping their tiny plaintive screams.

  Post-binge, of course, came the shame. Fun was fun, but noticing the time he knew a good stretch of rest was more important. Cramming two Mookoomarsh Bar scratch-’n’-sniff wrappers up his nostrils, Zaafer quickly passed out spreadeagled on his bunk, awash in olfactory bliss.

  Now, having left his quarters to start a new day, he decided to get some cornbread and tea to settle his stomach in the canteen. Soon after he arrived at the shipping hangar and surveyed his to-do tasks on his dataslate. As usual there wasn’t a lot of time to waste, but as he prioritized his action items he pondered idly what sort of thing was so dear that Mr. Roscoe would be so generous up front.