by Audrey Faye
No contest, really.
Sleep is highly overrated, she told herself.
Miala had seen too many people combat the drudgery of life on Iradia with drugs — and lose themselves in the process — to be tempted to use illegal stimulants to keep herself awake. Nala, after hearing a carefully edited story of what had happened to Lestan, promised to provide Miala with as much free coffee as she needed, and sent home carafes of her strongest brew.
Even so, by the end of the sixth day of working on the project, Miala’s eyelids felt so sore and irritated, she might as well have scooped up handfuls of her home world’s fine white sand and rubbed them all over her eyes. She’d caught snatches of sleep here and there, just enough to keep herself from completely losing her mind. But she knew she couldn’t stop; the lavender-skinned man was expecting a completed product to be delivered at the end of the week.
Besides, there was the hospital bill to consider. The deposit for the project had been enough to cover the transport to the hospital and Lestan’s first night there, but they’d expect payment in full before they released him. And because he’d seem to stabilize, and then lose heart rhythm again, they wouldn’t let him come home before a full week had passed. There was even talk of implanting an artificial heart. Miala prayed it wouldn’t come to that, because there was no way she could afford that kind of surgery. She’d have to get three more projects just like the one she was currently working on to even begin to afford it. And then there was the physical therapy afterward….
With an effort she could actually feel, Miala pushed those thoughts far to the back of her mind where they couldn’t interfere with the self-replicating algorithm that was her current focus. She couldn’t make her father’s heart magically heal itself, but she could make sure this damn code did what she needed it to do.
It seemed to compile correctly, so she sent it over to her test server and ran the routine that would simulate its real-world installation on multiple workstations, each with their own separate logins and security protocols. She hadn’t questioned why the lavender-skinned man’s boss needed something so sophisticated. Asking questions only got you into trouble. Besides, there were only a few men on Iradia with the sort of organization that would require this level of complexity, and she now had a fairly good idea of who she was working for. Gared Tomas, a man who’d never met a backroom deal he didn’t like. She’d never say the name out loud, though. The only good thing about the whole situation was that at least Tomas had a reputation for paying his debts, rather than killing off his service providers once he no longer needed them.
As the automation churned away in the background, Miala got up from the chair at her father’s workstation and went to pour herself yet another cup of coffee. Cold coffee that had been sitting in the refrigeration unit, since it was now midday and the flat was as stifling as the inside of an oven.
The bitter liquid made her want to gag, but she forced it down anyway. To think she used to like the stuff.
But a flicker of triumph went over her as she went back to the computer in her father’s room — that machine was far more powerful than her own, and so she’d decided it was better to do the work there — and saw that the simulation had run through its processes and hadn’t thrown up any error codes.
However, it was far too soon to organize any victory parades. She ran another simulation with a different set of parameters, and then another. Fifteen in all, and as dusk finally began to approach, bringing with it some relief from the relentless heat of the daylight hours, Miala stared at the computer screen and blinked. The work was done. As far as she could tell, the program worked exactly as it should. She’d thrown everything at it that she could dream up, and it had performed flawlessly. For some reason, though, all she could think of was how tired she felt.
With a small groan, she got up from the chair where she’d been sitting for the last four or five hours, and went to the kitchen again. Not for coffee this time. No, tonight she might finally be able to get some real sleep, and more coffee would only make her jittery and restless. But a long drink of cold water, which refreshed her in a way the coffee couldn’t.
And then to pick up her handheld and type in the code she’d found buried in her father’s notes. It seemed clear that the lavender-skinned man had been watching her, or he wouldn’t have come to her rescue a few days earlier, but walking out the door, waving her arms, and shouting, “I’m done!” didn’t seem very subtle. Better to enter the code, then see the word “ready” pop up on her screen. She typed “done,” and then hit “enter.”
The precious code had been transferred to a portable drive not much bigger than her thumbnail. That drive now rested in the pocket of her tunic, giving no sign of what it contained.
Miala didn’t know how long it would take for the lavender-skinned man to appear, but she figured she had enough time to run to the bathroom, brush her hair, and splash some cold water on her face, all the while doing her best not to look at her reflection. Her previous glimpses had told her the days of no sleep had already taken their toll — features pale and pinched, shadows showing like black bruises under her eyes.
Not that Gared Tomas’ lieutenant probably gave a crap about those sorts of things. He certainly hadn’t shown any interest in her, beyond her coding abilities.
And thank God for that, she thought as the front door buzzer sounded and she hurried to answer it. It’s refreshing when a man actually wants to keep it in his pants.
He stood outside, looking calm and cool. Miala wondered how he managed to pull that off. Yes, the sun had finally set, but it would take hours for the temperature outside to be even remotely comfortable. Was Eridani a hot world? She couldn’t remember.
She moved out of the way so he could enter the flat, then quickly pushed the button for the door. Yes, he probably had been seen, but she didn’t see the point in letting him stand on her front step for any longer than necessary.
“You have it?” he asked.
“Yes.” She reached into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the drive, but she didn’t pull it out. Now that the moment had come, her stomach began to twist with nervousness. What if he’d decided not to pay her? After all, there was very little she could do if he decided to reach out and tear the drive from her pocket…except hope he wouldn’t hurt her in the process.
Gared Tomas isn’t like that, she told herself. He pays his people. He can afford to.
But still she hesitated.
“Is it this what you wanted to see first?” the lavender-skinned man asked softly. Violet-blue eyes fixed on hers, he dipped his hand into an interior pocket of his jacket and withdrew a dark pouch that jingled faintly.
“Yes,” she replied, then cleared her throat. That single syllable had come out sounding awfully shaky. “Yes, I need to make sure it’s all there.”
“Be my guest.”
Miala took the pouch from him and went over to the table in the dining area so she could pour out the money. It glistened in the reflection of the light fixture overhead.
All there, every last unit.
She turned back toward the lavender-skinned man and pulled the drive from her pocket. “I tested it fifteen ways from Sunday. It works.”
“I have no doubt of that. Otherwise, you would have waited to call.”
The intimation being that the program had better perform as advertised, or she’d be hearing from him in the very near future.
“If you run into any problems — ” she began, but he held up a hand.
“No worries, Ms. Fels. I know where to find you.”
He slipped the sliver drive into the same pocket that had held the money, then went to the door and let himself out. Miala stood in the middle of the living room for a long moment, not sure if she could allow herself to breathe. What if he changed his mind, decided that he could return and take the money from her, since there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it?
But the minutes stretched on, and the night turned e
mpty and quiet. She was safe…for now at least.
Even then she couldn’t allow herself to relax.
Her father’s color had improved. He was still pale, but there was a proud glint in his eyes and the faintest flush along his cheekbones as he looked up at Miala.
“I can’t believe you did it. And Gar — that is, the payment came through all right?”
“Everything’s just fine,” she told him. “And I’ve settled up your bill here. You really can come home tomorrow?”
“That’s what they’re telling me.” He looked down at the tube in his arm with some disgust. “Not a moment too soon.”
That was for sure. Paying for this one last night would wipe out almost everything they had left. There’d be enough for food for a few days, and Nala had said that Miala could come work at the coffee house and earn a little extra, since Nala’s daughter, who usually performed such duties, was going to a friend’s wedding in the next settlement and would be gone over the weekend. That was something, but it wouldn’t be enough.
It was never enough.
From somewhere, Miala summoned an encouraging smile. “The important thing is that you’re going home. I think our client is happy, so maybe there’ll be more work soon.”
Her father nodded. “I have no doubt of it. Word always gets around. And that’ll be the commission to finally do the trick.”
Suddenly, her smile hurt her cheeks. Miala patted her father on the hand and then went to the window, making a show of closing the antiquated blinds, which were still open. Really, though, all she’d wanted was to catch a glimpse outside, to see the stars blinking down from Iradia’s perpetually clear skies the way they always did.
One day. God, she was tired of telling herself that.
This time, though, she could almost feel the resolve forming in her, hardening like clay baking under the midday sun. She’d shown that she could do this on her own. No, she would never abandon her father, because he’d watched over her all these years, but she could damn well pull her own weight. And his, if it came to that.
One day, we will get out of here. One day, I’m going to leave and never look back.
No matter what it takes.
You can read more of Miala’s adventures in Blood Will Tell, Book 1 of the Gaian Consortium series.
Passage Out
A Victoria Eternal Story
Anthea Sharp
Street rat Diana Smythe has long since given up her hopes of escaping Earth, but that doesn’t mean she can’t watch the ships fly in and out of the spaceport and dream…
Passage Out
Author’s note: Steampunk with a twist! Enter a fantastical world filled with alien spacecraft and Victorian sensibilities, ball gowns and travel to the stars. Passage Out is one of several stories set in the alt-history universe of Victoria Eternal; a world where a constantly cloned Queen Victoria rules for centuries over a British Empire spanning the stars.
The roar and shake of spacecraft blasting off from Southampton had long since ceased to wake Diana Smythe from her ragged slumber. The door alcove she called home was scant shelter from the elements, but she’d learned to catch what rest she could. A stealthy approach or a whisper of malice, however, would bring her awake in an instant, hand tight around the hilt of her makeshift dagger.
She’d had a gun, once, a light-pistol that could slice a man’s arm off, or put a smoking hole in his chest at fifty paces.
Long gone, now, along with the rest of the remnants of her former life. Diana didn’t even have a gold locket with her parent’s picture, or a pocket watch with a loving inscription, or any of the tokens common to novels about abandoned girls seeking their long lost homes and families.
Her life was not a storyvid. She knew well enough that parents didn’t miraculously come back to life after a flaming carriage crash, and lost fortunes never magically re-appeared.
And the dream of the spaceport had long since become a grimy reality, measured in take-offs and landings, in the ebb and flow of her small store of coins. Not enough. Never enough to buy passage out, not even a berth to the moon.
“Di, get up.”
A toe in her ribs made her roll away and open her eyes. Dawn feathered the sky in blue and pink, and made the grungy corner she called home almost pretty. Silhouetted against the sky stood a young boy with matted brown hair and a chipped-tooth smile.
“Go away, Tipper.”
“Can’t.” The boy squatted down next to her and poked her shoulder with a grimy finger. “Found something.”
That woke her up. Diana sat, her holey woolen blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. The nights were still chilly, but at least spring had finally come. She’d made it through another winter on the streets.
“What did—” She broke off, waited for the roar of the blast-off to fade.
Both she and Tipper looked up. From the sound of that lift, it was one of the bigger ships; a Fauntleroy 220, she guessed. The gleaming silver shape arced overhead, catching the light that hadn’t yet reached the alleyways and streets. It was a Fauntleroy, just as she’d guessed. A year after she’d arrived in Southampton, hopeful and starving, she’d found she had a talent for identifying the ships, scanning the arc of their flights in a heartbeat, gauging velocity and lift, and guessing at their destinations.
If she couldn’t get to the stars, she could image others traveling there, and watch them go.
Tipper stared at the ship, the longing on his face so clear Diana had to look away. Sure, she probably had the same look in her eyes, but she’d had a few extra years to hide it. Tipper was still a kid, for all his cockiness. Still dreaming the child’s dream of space—the blackness full of stars and possibility. A million futures to choose from.
Diana swallowed and ignored the tight clutch of hunger in her belly. When the sky was empty, she asked again.
“What did you find?”
Tipper darted a glance down the alley, then shook his head and motioned her to follow.
“If this is some kind of joke…” She gave him her best hard-eyed stare as she rolled up her blanket and shoved it into the satchel holding her possessions. The ones that mattered, anyway.
“Isn’t,” he said.
“Tally-ho, then.”
She brushed off her trousers, scooped up her bag, and grabbed the parasol she’d nicked from a highborn chit. It was battered and stained, but if she held it just right, wore her salvaged satin skirt, and did her hair up in style (fastened with string and bits of charred metal, not that anyone would get close enough to notice), she could pass for gentry. For a brief time, anyway.
Her accent helped, of course. At least, when she was in the better part of the city. Down here, in the rookeries by the spaceport, she pulled a covering of Cockney over the smoothly articulated syllables she’d grown up speaking.
Darting like a mongoose, Tipper led her through the twists of the alleys, through derelict buildings, and at last to the sheer, shiny wall of the spaceport itself. It rose a dozen meters into the air, silvery and impermeable, and so clean.
Diana went and laid her hand against the surface, the alien material faintly cool against her palm. There was no need for a stun current—the Yxleti-made wall was impervious to any human effort. No knife or gun, laser or explosive could even mar it, let alone break through.
There were only two ways into the oval-shaped spaceport district. Passengers and those with official business used the front entrance at one end of the oval. Cargo and employees went through the Spaceport Authority processing area on the other end. Between the two, nothing but sheer walls.
“Psst.” Tipper waved at her from a shadowy ruin ahead.
When Diana joined him beside the crumbling wall, he gave her a grin full of mischief.
“Lookit this.” He nudged a crumbling piece of pressboard aside with his foot to reveal a dark shaft disappearing into the ground.
She leaned over and peered into the blackness. The edges were perfectly straight, the hole just big e
nough to admit a body. Provided that a person was not afraid of closed-in, dark places. She shivered.
“Where does it go?”
“I waited for you, to find out.”
Diana shot Tipper a look. It wasn’t just the rough fondness of the streets that had made him wait, but the sense of self-preservation every alley rat needed to survive. It would be sheer foolishness to disappear down that black shaft without anyone knowing where you’d gone, or waiting up above to pull you back up if necessary.
“You’ve got a rope?” She glanced around the ruin, the two partially-standing walls not providing nearly enough cover for what they were about to do.
“Sure. And lights. And water and some brat bars, just in case.”
He went to the corner and rummaged beneath a piss-scented tarp, emerging with the described items.
“Here.” He handed one of the foil-wrapped bars to her.
“I don’t want that.”
B-rations, brats for short, were the lowest-level foodstuffs. Even at her hungriest, she could barely choke down a mouthful of the gluey substance.
“Toff,” Tipper said.
“Ain’t.”
Despite hazy memories of silky dresses and mathematics lessons and a pony of her own. That was half a lifetime ago, or more. It didn’t matter now. She tucked the brat bar into her trouser pocket, planning to give it back to Tipper after they… well. After they found whatever it was they were going to find down there.
“Probably just leads to the sewers,” she said, taking a sniff of the air over the shaft.
It wasn’t as foul as she expected. Dry, not rank, with a whiff of fuel. A jagged shard of hope sawed at her. Could this possibly be a tunnel into the spaceport?
Rumor was the Yxleti had used a network of tunnels when constructing the port. But they had all been filled up again. Even if this was a former passage to the spaceport, it surely ended in an impassable wall of rubble.
