by Dana Kelly
“See you, Ollie,” said the captain.
“Enjoy the break,” said Judge.
Oliver nodded and exited the vessel. He soon traveled a dull white passage, hardly aware of the viewports that offered an unfettered starlight vista. He fished his phone from his duffle bag, put his headphones back on, and dialed.
After a moment, a woman answered, and her projected hologram blossomed into view. “Aurora Webb,” her label read. She stood tall, with dark-and-white hair tied back in a sensible ponytail.
“Hey, Little Lady,” he intoned, his voice smooth and deep.
Her eyes lit up. “Hey, Cowboy.”
“I miss you.”
“You’d better get your butt home, then.”
He laughed. “What about the rest of me?”
“It can come, too.” She smiled tenderly. “Where are you?”
“Just docked.”
She nodded. “About three hours out, then?”
“If the shuttles are runnin’ on time. I’ll call again when I’m planet-side.”
Beaming now, she said, “I can’t wait!”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. Come home!”
His mustache shifted over half a smile. “Be there before you know it.” With a wistful sigh, Oliver ended the call and crossed into the main ring. A thoroughfare arched upward in both directions, covered in cinematic one-sheets, fast food ads, and political posters. Slipping between the scattered masses, he soon reached the commons, where he exchanged greetings with a familiar coffee shop barista.
He paid for a cup of piping hot medium roast and eased down on a comfortable stool, seated before a high table. Gingerly, he sipped and let his thoughts wander. The quiet murmuring of the space station echoed around him. He daydreamed of Aurora, and he imagined a dozen places they might visit during his leave.
In time, he got back to his feet and glanced along the footpath leading to the shuttle terminals. He tossed his cup into a waste basket and caught sight of a young woman approaching swiftly. Briefly making eye contact, she brightened and waved her fingertips. “You look like you know your way around here,” she said. Waist-length, blue-black hair tumbled across her dark brown eyes.
Oliver pointed toward the nearest information kiosk. “See that young man over there? It’s his job to answer questions.”
“Yeah, but you look a lot friendlier.” She gestured toward him. “What’s with the jumpsuit?”
“Fresh off a prison ship.”
“Ha. Your jumpsuit’s blue, not orange,” she said.
Oliver’s mustache shifted over an exaggerated smirk. “Oh, now I get it.”
“Get, uh, get what?”
“Now I know why everyone in the yard was pokin’ fun.”
She tried to follow. “Wait, what?”
Leaning in close, eyes narrow, he said, “Miss, I’m color blind.”
“You’re color blind.” With an uneasy laugh, she said, “I didn’t know.”
Chuckling to himself, he stood straight and regarded her evenly. “Just havin’ a little fun. Truth be told, I navigate for the colonial recyc fleet.”
She looked genuinely impressed. “That sounds exceptionally interesting.”
“It’s not, but it pays the bills.” He nodded her way. “Ollie’s my name.”
“I’m Amaya Nikuya, but you can call me Frostshadow.” She flashed her badge.
“You’re a binary.”
Her eyes brightened. “I am!”
“Now that sounds intrestin’.”
With a whimsical laugh, she said, “It pays the bills! Did you come from New Falkirk? I’m dying to visit! I hear it’s so green, you can’t even believe how green it is.”
“Wouldn’t know.” Oliver sipped and inserted the stopper. “Been there a hundred times, and never got farther than the space station.”
She moved in closer, grazing his hand as she retrieved a splash stick of her own. Leaning forward on the table, she gazed at him. “What’s it look like from space?”
He winced and pulled away. “Got big plans for that?”
“Excuse me?”
With a nod, he indicated the stopper. “You got no coffee, and you never ordered one. You come all this way for the free plugs?”
“No, I—”
“You can stop right there. Been around long enough to know people what look like you only flirt with people what look like me for one of two reasons: you’re sellin’ sex, or you want somethin’ you can’t get for yourself. Since you’re a binary, I highly doubt it’s the latter.”
She blushed. “Maybe you just caught my eye.”
“Only one set of eyes I care to catch.” He tapped his gold wedding band. “I’d sooner cut out my own heart than break hers, so maybe you should just move along.”
“Oh, uh,” she stammered. “Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s no bother.” After another sip, he excused himself, headed for the shuttle terminals.
Immediately, her expression hardened, and she followed him at a distance.
Dim light trickled along the boarding passage, and a cold gust blasted Oliver as he embarked. Alone for the moment, he took a seat near the back. He checked his phone for the time. Pausing to savor the cool air and the quiet, he closed his eyes and sank into his chair.
Over the next hour, passengers filled the shuttle, and Oliver eased awake as Frostshadow took a seat next to him. “Hi, Ollie.”
He grumbled, “Fancy that.”
“Can we start over?”
With a warm smile, he answered, “No, ma’am. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I’m beat and intend to sleep through the flight.”
“What the hell! Do I smell bad or something?”
“You do not.” He tilted his hat over his eyes, crossed his arms, and draped against the bulkhead.
The shuttle’s airlocks sealed. Clamps released the shuttle, and thrusters engaged.
Oliver drifted off to sleep.
She watched him long enough to be certain he was out. Retrieving her phone, she typed, “I have eyes on the father. Requesting go for acquisition.”
After a moment, she received a response from someone labeled “A.S.” It read, “Do not engage. Command asset has the acquisition order. Follow only to the parking garage and report.”
With a disappointed frown, Frostshadow pocketed her phone and got comfortable as the shuttle plunged through the atmosphere.
◆◆◆
Thunder boomed overhead as rain drove down in sheets, soaking the skyscrapers of downtown Van Alder. Within the bubble of an automated taxi, Oliver adjusted his Stetson and retrieved a wide umbrella from his duffle bag. He disembarked, and as the vehicle sped away, he paused to enjoy the sound of rain from within the umbrella’s bell. He grabbed his phone and dialed his wife, but it went straight to the message center. “That’s just great.” Mildly annoyed, he pocketed the device.
His feet and legs felt leaden. Seems like it’s takin’ longer and longer to get used to things planet-side, he thought, and he worked his shoulder awhile. Mustering his determination, he willed his limbs into motion, walking two city blocks to a cylindrical steel docking structure. After exchanging pleasantries with the attendant, Oliver rode an elevator up to his docking spot and stepped out onto a covered, metal passageway. Rain clattered overhead, echoing all around him.
Crossing the passage, he paused at the door. Splashes of rain spilled through a gap in the seal onto a heavy toolbox. Cautiously, he pushed open the door and stood at the ready, umbrella gripped like a sword. He nearly jumped when a young woman in hooded coveralls rounded the corner, colliding with him.
“Holy crap, guy,” she barked, “watch where you’re going!” She had a round face, and a curl of bright red hair hung over her dark brown skin. Her coal-black eyes narrowed to slits, and she looked ready to fight.
“What are you doin’ in my dockin’ pod?”
She stepped back. “Are you Oliver Webb?”
“I am, and what�
�s your name?”
“Stella Fiero,” she replied, and she showed him her badge. “Also known as Lafuega.”
He frowned. “Another binary?”
“What do you mean ‘another?’”
“Second one I met in a matter of hours.”
“I’d say it’s your lucky day, if I weren’t here to boot your van.”
He tilted his head. “Got no outstandin’ tickets or warrants. Got no cause to boot my ride.”
“Not according to the boys in blue. They’re planning to arrest you, Mr. Webb.”
“Please, Agent Fiero. Been out in the black for three months. Help me get home to my little lady.”
She tucked away the curl of hair, her expression torn. “I wish I could, but I can’t. Look, I know it’s a rough welcome, but that’s your hand. You gotta play it.”
“Right here an’ now, you’re the one with all the cards. You could deal me a new hand.”
“I’m… Look, I want to help you, but…” She glanced toward the pod’s interior, then startled as he captured her attention with his gentle gaze. After a moment, she let loose a frustrated groan. “The law requires I ask you to linger, but what you do when my back’s turned lies between you and your maker.”
“Much appreciated,” he said.
“Yeah, well.” Slowly, she hunched over the toolbox, drawing open its lid. Under her breath, she muttered, “Schurke’s going to be pissed.”
Oliver wasted no time stepping past her and closing the door.
Rain poured down on his sky van. Light beige with faded red trim, thick metal plates overlapped her flanks and dorsal ridge, lending the vessel an armored appearance. A single tailfin stood over the rear cargo hold.
Interior lamps brightened as he passed his gene key over the reader pad. A ramp yawned open, extending into the covered boarding area as a pair of wings unfolded from around the engine housings. Oliver boarded, vaulting across the narrow passage to the cockpit, where he switched on plasma generators and directional thrusters.
Hastily, he ran through preflight, set his navigation points, and flipped a switch labeled, “MOORINGS” to “DISENGAGE.” The berth released its clamps, and the vessel dropped. He jammed the throttle, rocketing into the air lanes just in time to avoid a wedge of approaching police sky cruisers.
◆◆◆
With the sky lot behind him, Oliver ascended above the storm and engaged the autopilot. He constantly checked the exterior camera feeds. Every bloom of lightning sharpened his anxiety, and he watched the navigation display when he wasn’t watching the feeds. Once more, he tried calling Aurora, but she didn’t answer. He fought the urge to pitch his phone as hard as he could.
Time passed, and the seatbelt warning light flashed. He buckled his harness as the sky van angled down, and he slipped through pillows of charcoal cotton. Downtown New California City faded swiftly into view, twinkling here and there in the storm’s determined grip. Rain sizzled upon the vehicle’s plasma aura, and directional thrusters swung into place.
Oliver spotted the familiar rooftops of his residential tower. He switched off autopilot, taking the flight stick to close the distance. Zipping past spires of blinking lights, elevated walkways, and docking spots, he shot past a massive delivery shuttle. It honked and flashed its high beams, but Oliver barely glanced at it, instead locking on his home garage.
Positioned halfway down the northern face of the residential tower, his gate was still scrolling open by the time he reached it. The very instant it had opened enough, he lunged into his docking spot, bobbed a moment before engaging the clamps, and he powered down his vessel. Noisily, the gate scrolled closed, and the drumming of the storm fell abruptly silent.
Made it, he thought, feeling his chest rise and fall. He closed his eyes and rubbed them. A moment passed before the boarding ramp extended, and he hurried along to the cluttered deck below.
He squeezed between boxes filled with old junk, dislodging a few things as he moved, until he faced a white-walled doorway. A strip of green light brightened above the jamb as he approached, and the door whispered quietly as it slid aside. Cautiously, he peered around the corner.
Across from him, Aurora sat alone upon their mint-colored shag couch, tapping away at her phone. She wore a red evening dress under her bathrobe and a pair of fuzzy slippers. “Psst,” Oliver whispered, but she didn’t react. “Aurora!”
Setting down her phone, she met his eyes and beamed. “Oliver,” she sang. “You’re home!” She crossed the living room and wrapped her arms around him. They kissed deeply, lovingly.
“How quickly can you pack?” he asked.
“Ten minutes, if we’re in a hurry.” She regarded him curiously. “Where are we going?”
“Vega Mar Beach?” he suggested.
Aurora slowly shook her head, stood back, and crossed her arms. “Don’t get me wrong. That’s tempting, but I can’t imagine you’d want to head back up right now, and you always take the first two days at home. It’s your ritual. What’s going on?”
“The police are after me,” he whispered.
She laughed, but soon sobered. “Really?”
“As real as Earth.”
Her arms fell to her sides, and she asked, “What did you do?”
“Nothin’ I can think of,” said Oliver. “The binary that was settin’ to boot my van said the police were comin’ to arrest me, but she took pity and cut me a break. I hightailed it out of there. I wasn’t sure if I believed her until I saw a squad of police spinners in the aft cam.”
Aurora smiled compassionately and tenderly gripped his hands. “You’re being conned.”
He did a double take. “How do you figure?”
“Let’s think it through. For one, binaries do superhuman work. They don’t boot vehicles.” She squeezed his fingers. “Your van’s been docked for three months. Anyone cruising by could see that. And what are the odds of you getting there right as it’s about to get booted?”
He raised his brows. “Not very high.”
“And what are the odds she’d let you go without actually booting it?”
“I did appeal to her good nature.”
“Ha! I bet you did.”
With a chuckle, he supposed, “So you’re tellin’ me in the next day or two, maybe someone comes knockin’ on our door with some song and dance about how the nice lady who helped me got caught?”
Aurora continued, “If only you could put up her bail money, all this can go away.”
They laughed about it awhile and embraced once more. He whispered, “What would I do without you?”
“Same thing I’d be doing without you, but with less money.”
He felt her warmth around him, against him, and he breathed her in. She wore subtly floral perfume. “You always get dressed up for me.”
“Keeps you coming back.”
He kissed her. “I love you forever, Little Lady.”
“And I love you forever, Cowboy.”
“What are we doin’ for dinner?” he asked.
“I was thinking about toad-in-the-hole and a salad,” said Aurora. “Hot apple pie for dessert.”
A smile tugged at his mustache. “That sounds so good.”
Playfully poking his chest, she added, “Great, because I need your help.”
“I’ll get the pan heated up,” he said.
“No, no, I can take care of all that. I need you to get the sausage.”
Oliver grabbed an empty canvas shopping bag from the lower half of the coatrack. “Be right back.”
She kissed him sweetly. “Don’t take too long.”
“You won’t even miss me.” He tipped his hat, tapped open the front door and stepped outside. Within the heart of the residence tower, layers upon layers of awnings and multicolored shade sails kept most of the rain at bay. Runoff coursed loudly along gutters, spilling over laden slopes of distressed metal roofing. Thunder rolled drowsily, and he adjusted his Stetson. The residence door whispered closed, and he hurried along t
he rusted metal walk.
He reached the corner within minutes, where an automatic door glided open. Directly above him, an aged neon sign buzzed and flickered. “Valu-Plus Mart,” it read, but most of its letters existed in a sorry state. Below it, a second sign dingily promised, “Open 24 Hours.”
Stepping inside, Oliver made his way along the aisles to an anemic meat department. Absently chewing the inside of his cheek, he checked the market’s offerings. Disappointed, he gingerly retrieved a pair of thick links stamped with the “NutriMeat” logo and studied them at arm’s length.
“Ollie, you don’t like vat meat?” asked a young cashier. She leaned over the counter with an impish smile. “It’s way more humane, you know. Howell’s thinking about phasing out live meat completely.”
Oliver grumped. “Tammy, please tell him not to do that. It’s a terrible idea.”
“I don’t think so.”
He regarded her flatly, thrusting the sausages in her direction from across the store. “You even know what’s the source animal they cloned to make these? ‘Cause it’s not on the label. And you know why?”
“No, why?” Judging by her delighted smile, he supposed she already knew.
He told her, anyway. “It’s vat scrapin’s from every kind of vat! They don’t list the source animals, ‘cause it’s all of ‘em.”
She giggled. “Did you know you turn red when you’re mad?”
“Yeah,” he sighed, “I know.” Shaking his head, he grabbed a six-pack of blue-label stout and a frozen loaf of garlic bread before making his way to the register.
She rang him up, and he waved his gene key over the reader. “Have a good night, Tammy. See you tomorrow, most like.” Hoisting his bag, he turned away and paused at the doors. “Tammy, the doors are stuck.” Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Tammy?”
The doors suddenly flew open, and Oliver narrowly avoided the well-dressed man who charged into the market. It only took a moment to recognize him. “Marty?”
