Dying For Space

by S. J. Higbee

  That afternoon, everything changed again. Maybe I caught a whiff of his cigars. Or heard his rumbling bass voice. Or perhaps the DNA we shared vibrated in a particular way. Because I was looking at the door expectantly a nanosec before he opened it.

  Our looks locked across the room.

  “Lizbeth!” Norman’s face split into a broad grin and he opened his arms.

  Despite everything unfair and brutal about him my heart battered my chest in delighted surprise and I found myself running towards him. Or maybe, I was just giddy with excitement at getting away from those lists. Whatever the reason, scrunched against the scratchiness of his uniform with his cigar and aftershave smell in my nose, I was glad to see him. “I missed you, Father!”

  Laughing, he picked me up and spun me around. And as he put me down, the world seemed more vivid. It didn’t hurt that my colleagues were watching us with soppy grins across their faces.

  Except Bernal. His intense glare seemed baffled. As if he couldn’t figure why someone like Norman would love someone like me. In an instant of smugness, I locked looks with him and raised my eyebrows.

  To be met with an expression of pure misery.

  Obscurely ashamed, I turned back to the General.

  “And how is it going down here? Are you happy?” Norman’s gaze bored into my soul.

  “Yes, of course,” I replied too quickly.

  His eyes narrowed for an instant while he fumbled in his pockets for one of his sodding cigars.

  Rick appeared and the two men shook hands, greeting each other with great friendliness, which nevertheless raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

  Norman’s grip around my waist tightened. “Show me what you are doing, sweetheart.”

  Rick shot me a quick look, as if to say ‘Don’t worry’.

  Which Norman also caught. He was now pushing me across the room towards my workdesk as he picked up the pace, leaving Rick trailing behind. Despite his bulk, he always moved fast – something I tended to forget when I hadn’t seen him for a while.

  “What’s going on here, then?” Norman slid into my seat and had the whole task peeled open in no time flat. His eyebrows drew down. “What else are you doing, Lizbeth?”

  “Just this. It’s important.”

  In the background, I saw Diana open her mouth. Before Bernal flung himself off his chair. He went down with a crash. Everyone spun around to stare. He scrambled to his feet, two hot spots glowing on his normally pale cheeks. “Sorry… I’m sorry.” He bent down and picked up his eardrop. “I was trying to get this without leaving my seat, sir.” This stuttering version was so completely unlike the reserved, graceful young man I detested, I just stared. So did everyone else. He flinched as someone sniggered.

  “You solid, Bernal?” Rick almost succeeded in keeping his voice lightly professional.

  “Yes, thank you for asking, sir.” Bernal might have been passing the time of day with a total stranger.

  I sweated as the General’s hungry attention soaked up all these details. Sticking an unlit cigar in his mouth, he resumed his study of the pathetic task I’d been given.

  “This makes no sense, Rick.” His gesture took in my workdesk, chair, and bag.

  Struggling not to beg him to be gentle, I bit my lip and looked at the carpet.

  “Unless this job includes a physical stocktake, Elizabeth might as well be sitting here picking her nose, for all the good she’s doing.” The underlying vibrato in Norman’s tone had my guts tightening.

  Tension twanged. Despite the space stretching out beyond our island of workdesks, it suddenly felt claustrophobic.

  Rick’s smile didn’t betray a flicker of nerves. “Absolutely, William. However, she also must get it completely correct, or the whole task is equally useless. Unless I tie up another operative to constantly monitor her and I don’t have the staff for that.”

  Norman’s gesture was dismissive. “Elizabeth can do this stuff in her sleep.”

  “She was a bit thrown on her first day. Not a surprise. The girl’s been to hell and back, William. So, we’re easing her in gently. No pressure. And when she’s ready, we’ll add in the next step.”

  “It better be sooner rather than later, Rick. Cos this crud will have her gnawing the desk with boredom.” His voice dropped a couple of octaves, “I promised her something worthwhile in recompense for giving up active service. Don’t make a liar of me to my only daughter.”

  Rick’s unforced laughter impressed me. Despite appearances, he had plenty of cojones – I’d seen hardened veterans wilt under that tone. “Of course not, my friend. She’s a thoroughly unspoilt, pleasant girl who’s settled in at warp speed and become a popular member of staff.” Rick turned to the cluster of desks. “Isn’t that so?”

  Everyone chorused agreement, while I flushed with guilty pleasure.

  If Rick Kelbee told his staff to eat their own legs they would, Lizzy. So, don’t get up yourself.

  Thank you, Jessica.

  Norman stood up, all growling threat gone as he beamed at everyone and put an arm around my shoulders. “So, may I borrow my girl for the rest of the afternoon, Rick?” His grip tightened. “I have a surprise for her.”

  We bathed in Rick Kelbee’s smile, as he leaned towards Norman. “Does my heart good to see you looking so happy, William. Of course. Take every chance you get to spoil her.”

  Was there a hidden message there, meant only for Norman?

  I couldn’t tell and didn’t care, suddenly tired of trying to decode every phrase for possible threats. I leaned into Big General Bear, content with the safety of his physical presence – even the rattling ride on the speed-seats failed to twitch me, this time. That said, I was hard put to keep up with him once we’d been decanted out of the lifts. Fortunately, he slowed to greet several bods, giving me a chance to get my breath as I wondered how David coped – or if he’d been speed-aug’d.

  We slowed outside one of the innumerable doors on the curving corridor that led to his quarters. I waited for one of the guards to open the door but at his nod, they moved away.

  “Here we are. I was going to move you into here earlier, though Fina said it wasn’t a good idea. But… I want to make things right. And you’ll love this – just you wait.” He grinned. “Now, what d’you want in your bedroom?”

  “There’s a domestic version of BalanceJoust. I’d love that installed—”

  His belly laugh drowned out the rest of my sentence as he hugged me. “Your humour always catches me. BalanceJoust, indeed! There isn’t room.”

  I smiled back, giddy with the prospect of getting something I really wanted. “Oh there is, Father, there is. I’ve measured it.”

  He released me, giving me a gentle push forward as he opened the door. “Not in here, there isn’t. What d’you think of your new bedroom, then?” He came into the room behind me and gestured at the cluttered space surrounding us, his eyes glowing with excitement.

  And I realised that refusing this treat wasn’t an option.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “It’s too much,” I muttered – a supermassive understatement.

  The bed was way too big, while the sofa could have seated a complete bridge deck crew. There were too many knick-knacks, too many mirrors, too many rugs, too much pink, too many feathers, too much silver gilding… I backed towards the open door, wanting to flee this bright, busy room, crowded with my dead half-sister’s possessions.

  But Norman blocked my retreat with his expansive gesture. “You’ll find every possible comfort you could want. After you’ve used some of these things, you’ll wonder how you ever coped without them – let me show you how the auto-massager works…”

  It wouldn’t have been so bad if the drawers and cupboards were empty. Oh, a couple of drawers and a single cupboard had been cleared to hastily make room for the next girl filling the vacant daughter slot. But most of the vast cupboard space was crammed with more clothes, wigs, shoes, boots, belts and bags than I’d wear in a long lifetime
. Elsbeth’s perfume, Intense, pervaded the room, giving me a headache.

  As Norman scooted from each pointless gismo to the next one, I wondered how she’d ever had time to sleep after being toned to within an inch of her air-stroked body; watching decades of holoprogs; listening to the huge library of music; or manning her trendedge workdesk that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a small space station.

  “You are very quiet, sweetheart.” Norman finally appeared to realise I wasn’t panting with pleasure at this room change.

  I tried for a grin. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “If there’s anything else you want, just say.”

  “Holed heavens, no! I mean… thank you very much. Maybe I’ll think of something over the next few weeks. But just now, I’m…” So overloaded by all this stuff, my brain’s gone for a jaunt out of the airlock.

  Returning to my former room to pack, I surveyed the large uncluttered space with yearning. It didn’t take long to load my belongings onto the trolleybot and on arriving back at Elsbeth’s room, I found it didn’t matter that most of the drawers and cupboards were already full as my gear didn’t fill the space made for me, anyhow. Fortunately, I was able to clear a whole shelf for the statue Wynn sculpted of me. I stepped back, feeling the familiar ache of pride and longing at I gazed at it. Even amongst all Elsbeth’s clutter it stood out as a quality piece. And it was the only possession I had to prove our time together hadn’t been some dream…

  There was another downside to becoming Elsbeth’s stand-in. Although the General had provided a fleeting talk-through for a few of the vivi-widgets littering the place, user instructions weren’t mentioned or in evidence. So, the sofa was prone to suddenly blasting me with cold air, pummelling me with the auto-massager, or tickling my feet. And as for the footstool – it clumped round the room after me, so that I regularly fell over the thing as I turned around. Or it suddenly nudged my legs to remind me of its presence. Music thudded out whenever I fired up the cosmetic workstation. Which doesn’t sound overly putrid, except Elsbeth was a vile-rave fan, which she played at levels loud enough to make the pots on her dressing-table buzz across the surface. Could I discover how to turn it off? Nope.

  That evening before dinner, I broached the subject of getting a heart for Romeo with George, only to have him cut me off in mid-sentence. “Make a formal appointment to see me about this matter, Elizabeth. It’s not a fit subject for now.”

  Oh really? A young officer is cut down in his prime and I’m not permitted to discuss it. However, if that’s what Number Two wanted, I could do polite formality in my sleep. After all, I’d been brought up to salute the Cap every morning at breakfast.

  “Of course, sir. I believe it is due to rain again, tomorrow. If it carries on like this, we will have to teach the newbies to swim through the mud on the obstacle course. Running past it this evening…” Pasting on a smile, I continued talking petty nonsense while Romeo continued to die.

  After the meal, I made a formal request by eardrop for an appointment, only to discover that George was unavailable for the next two days. Through gritted teeth, I confirmed the date. And retreated to Elsbeth’s overcrowded room where the wretched footstool’s attentions rapidly became unbearable, forcing me to visit the gym where I had a completely unsuccessful session on BalanceJoust. I was still too sore after my fight in the Officer’s Mess and proning around behind a workdesk down in Procurement hadn’t improved my combat reflexes. Instead of relieving my anger by whacking and slashing the avatar, I was busy dodging the sodding thing until I called for the program to end. No point in undoing the meditech’s hard work. Staggering back to my room, I had a shower where I discovered a new crop of bruises and rolled into bed where I spent a restless night slithering across pink satin sheets.

  Down in Procurement, Norman’s words evidently had an impact because two days later, Diana took me to the Armament Store. Situated along the curving corridor leading away from the travellator, it was tucked away behind a barricade of alpha-prime security – they even demanded a hair sample – in addition to armed guards and blast-proof doors. The huge space was cris-crossed with cliff-high shelves stacked with every kind of weapon, shielding and battle equipment that I could think of and a whole bunch I couldn’t.

  This was clearly Diana’s personal baby, which meant she took a long light year telling me in four different ways exactly how to check the stock against the lists, while I listened. As she embarked on the fifth round of instructions, I watched the small laddercarts zipping across trackways running across the front of the shelving. Stacked high above me, the shelves soared towards the distant ceiling. Most laddercarts were in auto-mode, pre-progged to retrieve or store various weapons or their spare parts and ammo in their allocated bins. But a few carts were carrying people.

  “…not to lean too far out’ve the cart – remember you’ve got the picker-arm to retrieve the ites—” Diana’s voice sharpened, “Elizabeth are you listening to me?”

  “Yes ma’am, I mustn’t lean too far out.” Mother Earth, but that’s a long way up…

  And? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten so soft since you been lolling around in adminland that you’re limping out’ve counting a few plasma shells cos they’re above waist-height!

  Diana must’ve caught my expression. “I didn’t think to ask if you were solid about heights.” Waving at the looming shelf-stacks, her face puckered into an anxious frown.

  With Jessica’s jeers still ringing around my skull, I hastily assured her that it would be no problem. Even without Jessica’s jabs, I would’ve still rather faced the stock shelves than return to my workdesk for another wearying afternoon of boredom.

  A man wearing glowing yellow overalls hopped out of a laddercart and marched towards us, his face alight as he beamed at Diana, who made the necessary introductions. “This is Axil, who runs the Armaments Store. Any problems, you just give him a shout. Axil, this is Elizabeth Norman, who is doing a physical stocktake for us in Procurement as part of her familiarisation training.”

  “Morning, miss.” His handshake was a bone-crusher, but then you could fit two normal sized men into Axil’s huge frame. “Don’t you worry yourself about the stacks, none. The safety regs is that solid, you’d have to be a vac-brained chimp to get yourself flung outta the carts.”

  “Oh yes. Even I get around the shelving without any difficulty. Well…” Diana glanced at the door, torn between her need to return to her workdesk and ensuring I didn’t wreck her system. “I’ll be along later to see how you’re getting on. And remember, any problems I’m just on the end of my eardrop. Or come and get me.”

  “Don’t you fret none, ma’am. I’ll take good care of this ’un.”

  “Thank you, Axil. Don’t know what we’d do without you.” Diana nodded at me, before scurrying back to Procurement.

  Axil’s gaze swept over me. “Right, miss. Let’s get you togged up.”

  Being ‘togged up’ meant wearing vivid red overalls with a phosphorescent harness over the top. When I asked why my overalls were red, instead of the yellow everyone else wore, Axil replied that red was the newbie colour. “An’ when you splat your sorry selves all over the ground, we can’t see the blood.”

  Axil grinned when I laughed and we got on fine after that.

  This task ticked all my boxes, once I got the hang of the laddercart. Focusing on the controls kept my fear manageable and the speeds the cart could reach when running the length of the aisle made for an exciting ride.

  Though Axil threatened to have my head on a stick if I tried aisle-racing before I’d advanced onto yellow overalls. “You break a cart, it’ll take at least four months’ creds to patch it up,” he warned, before jabbing a grimy finger in my shoulder. “An’ don’t think I won’t know – cos I always find out if a newbie’s been racing ’em.”

  On her return, Diana wasted an unnecessary fifteen minutes checking my work for mistakes, clearly concerned I was creating the mother-muddle of all time with her precio
us system.

  Finally Axil swooped by on his cart, jerking his head in my direction. “She’s made a peaking start. If she starts messing up, I’ll put her right, soon enough.” He winked at me, before zipping off again.

  Warmed by his praise, I was happily aware that the long, long list Diana had compiled, meant that I’d be here for at least the next week.

  She finally swung out of the cart, adding, “Just remember, you have any problems, come and get me. I won’t mind.”

  I’d expected some hazing as the General’s daughter, but it didn’t happen. Maybe Axil had a word with the pickers, or maybe Norman’s reach was long enough to keep them civil around me. It was jaw-dropping to see just how much ammo the P’s routinely got through. And impressive to see the speed that Stores Requisitions – known as Recs – were processed from the time they arrived on a workdesk in Procurement, to when they were shipped out. I began to realise Rick Kelbee’s claim the whole outfit would grind to a halt if Procurement stopped working wasn’t the word-spinning waste of breath I’d assumed.

  The rest of the day passed in a happy blur of continuing through the list and improving my laddercart skills.

  I could really like this job, after all. I grinned at the guards as they checked me back through the doors to rejoin my colleagues as we all ended our shift that evening.

  “Ah, Elizabeth!” Rick’s warm voice echoed around the chilly space, as I queued for a speed-seat with Riona. “Just wanted to say, keep up the good work. Diana tells me that you’re doing a prime job on the stocktake. Even Axil has nothing but good things to say about your work.”

  “Thank you, Mr Kelbee. I’m enjoying it.”