Migrant Thrive: Thrive Space Colony Adventures Box Set Books 7-9
Page 7
Another powder was a drug that conveyed the positive experience of drinking alcohol, with no deleterious effects if used in conjunction with the Happy Tummy Joy-Joy gut bacteria suite. It cut inhibitions and made one euphoric without hallucinations. They’d enjoyed that one last night. The stuff was fairly habit-forming – addictive – and could not be reproduced offworld, the Denali believed, made as it was from some sea critter’s innards.
Jules’ pharmaceutical portfolio was coming along great. But this chocolate just might round out her collection to perfection.
“Well, as a luxury good.” Abel traded his tablet for another glossy fragment of chocolate, having completed his calculations. “We only have five cubic meters left in the containers.”
Jules smiled. “We could store these in our cabin. In the galley.”
Her husband snorted amusement. “Not if we want to make a profit.”
“You know, Abel, I’ve been thinking about that.” Jules gazed around their little grotto. “We’ve made profit.”
“And plenty of it!”
“No, I mean, we’ve been there, done that. I was so terrified coming here as a teenager.”
“We nearly lost the ship with all hands. No one blames you for staying moon-side and raising the kids.”
She shook her head slightly. “But maybe I do. It used to be so fun, Abel! Remember when we first moved to Schuyler? We were changing the world. And diapers. So busy. I built apartments that changed people’s lives. Homes better than they’d ever lived in before. Easy commute to jobs beyond their wildest dreams. I made money hand over fist.”
“You surely did, baby.”
She slapped his hand before he nabbed another of the treats. More flavors were coming. “But now my babies are teenagers.” She shook her head in disgust. “I don’t know how to raise a teenager.”
“You do alright.”
“No, I don’t. My da married me off to you. Sold my brother into an apprenticeship. What does it even mean to raise a teenager? They’re grown. They’ll graduate middle school soon. I don’t think they’re high school material. Maybe trade school.”
Abel frowned at her. “Ham and Port aren’t bad, Jules.”
“I ain’t saying they’re bad. I’m saying they’re grown. That beer’s brewed, they are who they are. I like them fine. But Abel, wouldn’t it be awesome to do business that matters again? Make money, sure. I mean, that’s our gift God gave us. But your stockholders, eh. Bunch of lazy bums. And my tenants, they’re fine without us. We made a real impact on Schuyler. Let’s do it again.”
Abel stared at her, lips parted, then he started to grin. “You’re serious.”
“Darn tootin’, husband. They need money to found a new fancy world, like Earth again. Those Sanks, they’re just refugees. But these Denali?” Jules nodded her head hard. “If there’s a world needs taming, they’ll do it! I back this horse.”
Aldi returned, interrupting further discussion. But Jules squeezed her husband’s hand with an impish smile. The farmer set down the tray, trying to make a flourish of it. No, the Denali farmer with her worn hands and aging skins didn’t excel at presentation.
But Jules did.
“My favorite is the chocolate-covered orange peel.” Aldi pointed shyly, her fingernail disfigured by fungus and ground-in dirt.
Jules popped one in her mouth. She’d expected to appreciate the treat, but it exceeded every expectation. She closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure, almost as loud as when Abel… He started snickering. She guiltily back-handed him.
Aldi timidly offered, “I checked. We only have 80 cubic feet of cocoa – the powder. But you can take it all. If it supports our travelers.”
“Oh, it will!” Jules assured her. “This is a perfect product! I need the story from you about this stuff. What it is, how does it grow,” she swatted Abel’s hand as he reached for another candy, “glamor pictures. We can photograph these, on this table. Do you have any white cloth? Never mind. Loincloths and plates and pretty leaves will do.”
Abel rose to leave for their next appointment. “With luck, this won’t just support the travelers, Aldi. This could be the interstellar product that keeps drawing ships back to Denali regularly. Plant more of this stuff!” His elevation gave him better reach. He snatched three more to eat before Jules could stop him.
She settled in with Aldi to happily stage their marketing materials. Making money was such fun!
10
“We’ve done it before,” her partner Clay reminded Sass, earning a sharp glance. She shifted her gaze out over the amassed thousand Denali emigrants, strewn along the largest open hallway in the Waterfalls cosmo dome for this induction meeting.
He was right. But damn him for bringing it up. She swallowed, now picturing desperate Earth refugees in the whale belly of Vitality, awaiting their turn to be rendered corpsicles for the three-year duration to Mahina. They carried guns then to put down any resistance. Many of the settlers fought the necessity of submitting to the small death they might never awaken from. Sass hadn’t blamed them a bit. She didn’t care to recall how many of them she killed, though.
It wasn’t the same. The resolute Denali before her were volunteers to serve their world. But they were probably just as terrified as those who left Earth.
She steeled herself and hopped up to the podium. “Hello! My name is Captain Sassafras Collier. You know me.”
She got a warm ovation. The younger travelers today included then-kids whom the Thrive crew saved from the wreckage of Denali Prime. Ben was right. Sass was ideal to herd their passenger problem.
“I will pilot the ship that carries most of you to the Pono rings. You’ll ride into orbit with me, too. And I’ll deliver many to your destination at the other end as well.”
For this, too, they applauded her.
Now for the hard part. “We do not have passenger ships. Instead, you will be stored cryogenically in containers we call ‘paddy wagons.’ That’s because thousands of freed slaves, paddies, traveled from Sagamore to Mahina before you in these same boxes. Much the same way as we all came to the Aloha system generations ago.”
The crowd sobered.
Sass plowed onward. “We have nine containers. Each can hold one hundred. That leaves one hundred extra. About thirty-five of you will remain awake on each of our three ships. These people must be strong, willing to work and obey orders without fail. And you must trust them. They will be your guardians, your spokesmen while you sleep and cannot speak for yourselves. I ask you to choose wisely.
“First, who is your overall leader?”
A young woman strode forward to introduce herself, Tarana. The cosmo reminded Sass vividly of a young and pushy Aurora, right down to beautifully cultivated bakkra patterning, which accentuated the contours of firm bare breasts and belly.
Sass handed her a paper diagram, a proposed packing plan for the containers. They needed to be sorted depending on destination, to remain in cryogenic sleep until arrival.
Tarana immediately grasped the necessity. “And ideally the extra eleven per container would be for the same destination…but not necessarily. Hm. Hell’s Bells is the only problem, I think. We don’t have jobs for an extra eleven there.”
Sass assured her, “The ship will return to Mahina Orbital after delivery.” If too many in the container survive.
Tarana nodded. “And when do we begin loading?”
“Day after tomorrow. But I’d like the hundred awake workers today to begin training. We need to sling the seating. Plus identify the first container worth of,” corpsicles, “sleepers.”
Remi and Cope tried, but on the sizzling frying pan of a spaceport, it just wasn’t possible to chill a container sufficiently to induct the sleepers down here. They’d shuttle up to orbit standing room only. The number of trips required would strain the world’s fuel reserves to the groaning point.
“Understood,” Tarana confirmed. “I hope you’ll stay while we work this out? There may be questions.”
Tarana nodded matter-of-factly. “I’ll begin there. They’re scared. They’re brave.”
She turned and began an oration in the Denali storytelling style. She strode into her audience, dividing her flock into ten equal portions. There were indeed questions, usually from Tarana. Sass fielded them as best she could.
But mostly she stood resolute shoulder-to-shoulder with Clay, trying to exude calm confidence.
Clay murmured, “Please be sure the temporary crew are ready to mop up vomit.”
“I’m waiting for the right moment to mention it.”
“Sass? There’s a never a right time for vomit.”
“Point.”
After a bit, Tarana looped back to them, still smiling professionally at the crowd. She spoke softly. “Many want someone to come back and report on what it was like to get frozen. Is this…?”
“Bad idea,” Sass confirmed. Tarana winced. “Hunters to help with security would be excellent. Ones who can keep their mouths shut.”
Tarana’s concern was beginning to show on her face. Sass turned her so her back was to the crowd. “We have exceptional new pharmaceutical prep. We hope for less than 3% casualties.”
Clay’s honest streak was annoying. “The Saggies commonly lose 10% or more.”
Sass inclined her head to him. Ben said 10%-20%, but paddy slaves were willing to risk it for their freedom.
“Was Aurora aware of this?” Tarana inquired.
“Yes.”
“This Aurora is a bitch from hell, isn’t she?” Tarana followed up.
“Yes,” Sass supplied.
Clay suggested, “Call her an idealist. She believes in sacrifice for Denali.”
Sass reminded her, “Three ships. You don’t have to travel with Aurora.”
“But I do,” Tarana corrected her. “The envoy is…out of touch. I’m her replacement. I’m not sure anyone’s mentioned that to her yet. But I need her to brief me on the Mahina authorities. Does she get along with them?”
Sass and Clay exchanged a glance. “We’ve been away for a decade. I doubt anyone could have done better.”
“I see.”
And from the wary look in her eye, Sass believed Tarana did see. Good. These people deserve a canny advocate.
A week later, Sass felt like she was in a never-ending hell, still smiling at each passenger as they slipped trustingly into a shelf, head out. Today had been her sixth and final takeoff from Denali. She managed one day off with Clay aloft, and one on Denali saying good-bye. Other than that, daily she’d flown Merchant into orbit. Still devoid of pressure bulkheads, but with finished bathrooms and a double med-bay, the new ship could carry a full 150 passengers per trip. And she tucked them to sleep.
Today Ben joined her, his first tour putting passengers into cold storage. His Prosper was their oldest ship, by several decades. Like Thrive, they subjected her to the wear and tear of lifting through that horrific gravity well only once.
“I’m so cold,” a woman complained as Sass helped her into a bottom level shelf. Like most Denali, she wore nothing but a loincloth. “This is the cold of space?”
“No, ma’am,” Sass soothed her. “I know the container looks rustic. But it’s well insulated and climate-controlled. Breathe deep. Good air, isn’t it?” She brushed the woman’s brow in benediction as she settled. Her eyes fluttered closed. A Denali crewman administered their drugs five minutes before they flipped gravity through the trapdoor into the corpsicle container. The system flowed well-oiled by now.
“You’re our captain?” A worried man asked as Ben gave him a hand climbing the step-stool to the next free slot on the top shelf.
“I am a captain,” Ben told him with a grin. “Lead captain, Thrive Spaceways. I fly Prosper. Headed for Hell’s Bells?”
“No. Mahina Orbital.”
“Then the lovely Captain Collier will fly you there.”
“I’ve changed my mind!” The guy, a beefy Denali hunter, suddenly reversed down the stairs.
“Not an option at this juncture,” Ben assured him. He stuck a shoulder under the guy’s butt and tried to heave him back up the steps. “Security?”
“She got a black eye,” Sass explained apologetically. Originally she placed a Denali medic with hypo-spray at Ben’s position. By now her allotment of ten was down to three. They administered the drugs and helped candidates down the trapdoor into the container.
“I can’t do this!” the warrior screamed. “You don’t understand!” His eyes bulged in terror. “I have to go home!” He wheeled mid-ladder to face his tormentor.
Ben hauled off and decked him, hopping up to reach. The bigger man reeled and half-toppled from the short ladder. Ben caught him and turned him to face away. “Feeling better, sir? Up the steps. Now!” The younger captain followed one rung below, shoving the guy upward. Each time the panicked passenger hesitated, Ben body-slammed him into the ladder to hurry up. “Tranq any time, Sass, would be awesome.”
Sass froze in astonishment when Ben punched the man. Flustered, she hurried and passed him the tranquilizer hypo. “Everyone has a different style. I suppose.”
With most of her ex crew, she felt barely a day had passed in the decade they were parted. Ben, not so much. Her affable protege from the boonies grew up tougher than she ever expected. He manhandled the stocky Denali warrior’s feet into his slot, and slid him in, probably abrading the guy’s bare back.
“I can’t! I’m claustrophobic! Get me out of here!”
Ben jabbed the hypo into his neck and pinned him down. “Everybody, don’t let this rattle you. Funny, but it’s actually the sedatives that cause this reaction. Most, like you, the drugs make you happy and calm. Some, like him, have a quirky reaction. He’s a hunter. He’ll be mortified later.”
Ben leaned in and peeled back an eyelid. “Yeah. See? He’s asleep and fine now. Nothing for you to worry about!” He casually hopped back down the ladder. “You’re next, ma’am.”
The slender cosmo woman scurried fearfully past him and up the ladder, eschewing his offer of a helping hand.
Sass resumed stashing the passengers into the lower shelves. Today they stored the final 200, 150 she brought up on Merchant, plus the remaining 50 on Prosper with the last of the cargo, plus their own people.
Not a single one of their Denali friends stayed behind. Not even Teke, though Denali Prime offered a lot to keep the physicist. She never expected that.
At last, Sass and Ben tucked in the last of the passengers. Nine hundred Denali dreams slumbered in their cold boxes among the unyielding stars. Ben perched on top of his ladder and peered down the shelves. “Anyone still awake? Please speak now.”
Sass walked along the bottom tier, checking the faces he couldn’t see from above. “All out.”
Ben hopped down, but left the ladder for the team stowing the travelers’ 10-kg allowance for personal effects. Their tagged luggage currently received a thorough fluffing in the cold vacuum of space to kill off any lingering bakkra. He waved a hand, ladies first up the trapdoor. “Let’s grab some beer and chat in the bridge.”
“Mind if I take a rain check?” Sass attempted.
“I do mind, captain,” Ben replied. “Beer. Bridge. That’s an order.”
Yeah, Ben changed most of all.
11
Ben kicked his feet up on the console, having claimed the captain’s seat in Merchant’s tiny bridge – Sass’s chair. She grudgingly took a swig of her beer. “Is this a disciplinary chat, commodore?”
“Can do,” Ben allowed. “But not my intent. Sass, I helped you tuck the kiddies to bed today because Clay asked me to. He’s concerned. Naturally, that makes me concerned. And not a little curious. Why did you do that to yourself?”
“I’m responsible for th
em! Their souls, their futures.”
Ben took a long thoughtful drink. “Bullshit. Sass, they’re volunteers. Heroes in their own minds. Most people are. If I regret the low quality accommodations – and believe me, I do – I am inspired to build a real transport. Not to tuck them in with their teddy bears personally. It is not a captain’s job to coddle the crew, let alone the passengers. Some of them panic and need decking. We have security for that. Not captains. Medic wouldn’t be my first choice, either.”
Sass swirled her beer glass, watching the bubbles form on her signature helix of ice up the middle. Ben waited her out. “I guess I still have some ghosts from Vitality’s trip to Mahina. Twenty thousand.”
Ben frowned in puzzlement. “What’s the number?”
“How many of our cryo preps died en route to Mahina. Including the ones we shot. We didn’t have tranquilizers, you see.” She narrowed her eyes, remembering a certain settler revolt all too vividly. A couple kids died in the scuffle. She still wondered if she was the one who shot them. Clay said not. But she’d never really know.
“How many years now? Hundred twenty-two?” Ben suggested, studying her.
Sass’s eyebrows flew up, astonished that he’d recall her objective age. But then Ben always was a math whiz, even better than his husband Copeland. His cheerful and rowdy veneer, and that young face, masked a sharp intellect.
He pulled his boots off the console and sat sideways, elbows on his knees, not exactly a comfortable pose in the bucket seating. “Sass, as the years rack up, you gotta let a few go. You did the best you could at the time. That’s that. Don’t let your past paralyze the present. Because you’ve got too damned much to give here and now. Am I wrong?”
“You’re right,” she conceded. “But is this why I’m getting dressed down?”