Space Cowboy Survival Guide

by Long, Heather

  At the first hotel, he paused to ask some questions—average rate for a room, size, amenities. It was Shaw’s opinion that a body could learn a lot about what a culture was like based on what it valued in its accommodations. General size, for example, told him that the folks of New Genesis like plenty of arm and leg room. They didn’t want to be stacked on top of their neighbors, even in a dense city population.

  So, not as friendly as they pretended.

  Declining to book a room, he continued on his earlier trek. The crowded streets had thinned since he’d gone into the pub to eat. His datalink told him he was closing in on 22:00 hours. Maybe it was late for these folks, too.

  The second and third hotel he checked reminded him of the first. All spacious rooms, high cost per night, and plenty of amenities. Did they have anything that looked like a cheap, no tell motel? He’d stayed in a fleabag once.

  They still used cards to access the rooms and had handles on everything. It had been an experience.

  On the street again, he consulted his datalink. Zed fed him a map of his current location. A highlighted kiosk two blocks down included local access for the city center. Shaw spared a glance around him, scanning for any familiar faces. Since Miss Anderson told him she’d followed him from the port, he wanted to avoid a similar occurrence with less friendly strangers.

  At the kiosk, he studied the options. A city map took up one panel and had several landmarks highlighted, including their government offices, medical centers, and museums. Museums? The planet had been settled for what—two hundred? Two hundred and fifty years? What could they put in a museum? Adding that to the list of questions he’d like answered, he stepped up to the information interface, then inputted his question about hotels.

  The interface offered several selections, but a brief glance suggested they were all the same. All high-end establishments offering premium accommodations at high cost—so did average individuals not stay in the city? Or were they simply not welcome? Curiosity more than need had him calling up the businesses established along the perimeter. After finding nothing of note, he searched for a news channel.

  Nothing available appeared on the public bands. The kiosk didn’t have access to private bands. Glancing at the streets, Shaw studied his surroundings more closely.

  No trash—not even a random food wrapper or hint of plastic.

  No indigents—not even near the docks had he noticed the signs of them.

  No graffiti—not even in art deco style.

  Canting his head, he listened. No sirens in the distance, no pulse pounding music suggestive of a nightclub, not even a yell or cry of voices disagreeing. It left him uneasy, this tranquil façade.

  As promised, the suns never truly set, yet the city seemed to fall into some gray slumber. He spent most of his night walking the streets, studying the neighborhoods until his feet complained, his legs ached, and hunger gnawed on his backbone. Altering his course, he headed toward the port once more. If any restaurants were open along the way, he’d step in for food, otherwise he’d eat aboard the Gilly then sleep.

  Whatever was wrong with the city, he wouldn’t sleep exposed. It was the hush of the streets which saved him. No matter how quietly a person ran, additional feet joining them in the silence made noise. Shaw went for his pistol. Peace bonded or not, it was still a weapon. Pivoting, he faced the five men rushing him.

  The first one got the pistol butt right to his forehead and dropped like a rock. Ducking beneath the second man’s swing, Shaw managed an uppercut before another of his assailants struck him with a blow to his kidney. Damn, if a fist in the back didn’t hurt worse than a knife. Sucking in desperately needed oxygen, he managed to elbow jab someone in the face. Then it became a matter of dodge, duck, grimace if they made a hit, and strike back.

  Blood ran from his nose and the copper taste flooded his mouth. He managed a solid kick in the nutsack for one of the bastards and flung his pistol at still another. The glorious sound of bone crunching when it struck gave him something to smile about, then arms wrapped around his neck and yanked him backwards.

  It had turned into a full on brawl, only it was his less than favorite kind—one pitting him against five others. Bruised and battered, he struck as hard as he could at every target presented. The hands on his throat were replaced by rope and he choked. Striking out with his feet, he kicked a man in the face. He kept trying to slam his head back at the man strangling him, but neither his skull, nor the elbow he shoved backward connected.

  Vision clouding over, he gasped when a fist slammed into his stomach. Then a sizzling sound lit the air and the choking grip on his throat eased and he lunged forward, and drove his fist into the cheekbone and eye socket of the man in front of him. One blow, followed by another, then another and the bastard dropped.

  Fighting for his breath, he pivoted fists raised to see the last assailant—the one who’d been strangling him—down and twitching as Miss Anderson struck him repeatedly with a cattle prod.

  Huh.

  “Are you all right?” The too wide eyes promised him she wasn’t entirely comfortable with her participation. Shaw forgave her. Limping, he retrieved his pistol, the bent down to flip over one of his attackers.

  He didn’t look remotely familiar. Patting him down, he pulled out an ID card. “Get his ID card,” he told Anderson, limping his way around until he’d collected the others.

  By the time he joined her, she’d slid her cattle prod down into a slim handle and tucked it into her sleeve.

  “Handy,” he commented, then checked the card she handed him. Squinting through his rapidly swelling eyes, he grunted. “Friends of yours?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Though I think friends would be an extreme definition. That one over there is a bounty hunter named Johan Helios. I’ve seen him on New Athens.”

  “Great.” He paused to give Johan Helios a good swift kick in the head, then tucked the ID cards into his duster. He’d turn them all into the local authorities. He touched a hand to his split and bleeding lip. Great. Hungry, tired, and now bleeding. He’d have to clean up before he could eat.

  His left knee, one he’d dislocated in a riding accident in his teens, complained viciously, but he kept limping toward the port and the Gilly’s berthing. After a handful of steps, he didn’t hear Miss Anderson following him. Glancing back, he sighed. She was still staring at the downed men. Bounty hunters who apparently came after him because his little would-be passenger had probably either been following him or had been waiting to accost him at the port.

  Guilt nibbled at his conscience, but he shoved it aside. He didn’t do guilt. She’d done him a solid when she’d taken out the one strangling him. So…he spat out the blood in his mouth before asking, “Are you coming?”

  “I thought you said…” Disbelief filled her voice.

  Turning, he continued his limping path. “Not asking you twice, princess.”

  Two steps later, she hurried to join him. Great. She’d taken him up on the offer.

  “I’ll take you as far as my next port. Clear?”

  “Crystal, Captain. Thank you. You’re my…”

  He lifted a finger. “Don’t say it. I don’t do that hero shit.”

  “Of course, Captain. My lips are sealed.”

  Yeah, he was already regretting it.

  3

  Rule #20: Don’t run from a fight unless you’re hella fast.

  Tika Anderson

  From the moment Shaw offered her safe harbor aboard his ship, Tika had been grateful for the opportunity. Only his idea of safe harbor meant locking her on board for the night while he cleaned up, then again on the following day while he continued whatever his work was on planet. When he left the ship however, he'd assured her no one else could get on board. It didn't matter how grateful she was for his offer of escape, her anxiety still climbed every moment they remained planet bound. Not to mention, he hadn't told her what his actual job was. Though she was curious, she didn't start digging around on a shi
p. That would be an unforgivable invasion of privacy.

  Also his ship’s computer seemed to be keeping a very close eye on everything she did. When she first arrived onboard, Shaw directed her to a room and told her to make herself at home. The room itself was bare, save for a single unmade bed and a tiny water closet and washroom. The ship was also quite cold. She’d kept her thick, woolen cloak wrapped tight around her to ward off the chill. Most planets seem to be too cold compared to the Greek planet states from whence she hailed. New Athens, New Sparta, New Helios, and New Olympus overall were warm planets—or at least most of them had their main settlements in the warmest zones. With a sigh, Tika abandoned her tiny room to wander through the ship for the hundredth time.

  What she knew of ships told her his was well constructed, if a little dark and dank. The dank might be a bit unfair, but she wasn’t feeling particularly charitable considering he also kept the ship in a subzero temperature. At one of the monitors in the lounge, she touched the screen to activate it. When nothing happened, she glanced to the side for control. No obvious buttons or flip of a switch would allow her to turn it on, so she leaned her head back, looked at the ceiling, then said, “Screen on?”

  A moment later, a very clipped and accented computer voice answered her, “Miss Anderson, do you desire access to the ship's computer or to view local stations?”

  Certain it would be unlikely for the ship to let her access the internal systems, she said, “Local stations please.”

  The screen turned on, cycling imagery until it locked onto a station. It appeared to be an entertainment channel, with dancers and singers performing, but no sound. “Is there a volume control?”

  “Of course, ma’am. If you wish to raise the volume, simply say volume raise. Lower the volume, simply say volume lower. If you wish to continue watching without volume while the sound is on, simply say mute.”

  Very straightforward. Excellent. “Is the entire ship voice automated?”

  “Voice automation was integrated into the Gilly systems prior to departure from Earth Prime. Only public systems are accessible to guests, all other systems are restricted to the captain and only the captain.”

  Okay. Again it made sense and Captain Sullivan had made her a guest so… “Which systems have guest access?”

  “All guest services include access to local viewing when planet side, water access, via the shower systems. Also kitchen services.”

  Kitchen services? Now he was talking. “So I can order you to make me something to eat?”

  “Preparation of food is beyond the scope of my programming; however, I can direct you to the kitchen services area where food storage will allow you access to the components of a meal.”

  That was better than nothing. “Guide me to the kitchen?

  “Of course. Please follow the highlighted panels along the floor.” A panel next to the exit hatch from the lounge illuminated and she was able to follow the designated path to two hatches past the lounge. A little miffed that exploration would've allowed her to find it did not take away from the fact that she enjoyed access to food.

  “Thank you very much. Can you tell me which storage areas contain easily prepared vegetables? I would prefer no meat products.”

  A storage access door the size of a cabinet illuminated on the far side. Twisting the handle, she heard the hiss of air as the lock disengaged. Inside, she found drawers of fresh vegetables neatly stacked in cool storage. Tomatoes, olives, zucchini, cucumber, some peppers and lettuce. Perfect.

  “Are there utensils?” She asked. “Also a bowl for mixing, and a blade for chopping.”

  At each request, other storage areas lit up. She made short work of gathering together the required items. Most were made from a lightweight, but dense material. It made sense as any disruptions or turbulence could break standard china and glass. For the next ten minutes she busied herself cutting and chopping her way through the bounty she’d gathered. Every slice added a layer to the first sense of comfort and safety she’d found since fleeing her so-called wedding of the century and the paparazzo following her.

  From the moment their engagement had been announced, it had caught the imagination of the Greek planet-states. They’d been followed everywhere, every decision critiqued, celebrated or chastised in equal measure. She’d suffocated under the attention, under the need to watch every single word she spoke or being lectured on the scripts as her father’s advisors vetted every public statement, weighing the text and subtext.

  It had been a dreadful, unbearable position under the unforgiving scrutiny of the public eye. All attention she hadn’t earned. It had nothing to do with her no matter how genetically, socially, and financially advantageous the match they’d selected for her promised.

  When it had become too much, she’d finally broken down and confessed her discomforts to her mother. For one shining moment, she’d believed her mother understood. That she’d take the case to her father, plead her freedom. Then her mother shattered the hope with one carefully worded and neutral statement. “Your father understands what will work best, and you will in no uncertain terms honor your father in this request.”

  No, her mother would not go against her father, and she didn’t care whether Tika had any interest in marrying. Her personal choices were not a part of the discussion. If it hadn’t been for Delia, her handmaid, Tika might still be trapped on New Athens, corralled into a loveless marriage for the financial advancement of their families.

  Delia had done what her mother refused—she’d offered Tika an opportunity to flee. More a sister than a handmaid, Delia had grown up with Tika and had been her constant companion from the age of six. Together, they plotted Tika’s escape. Delia took care of gathering the documents, a new identification and applying for employment aboard a passenger liner which could get her to another planet-state. It had been Delia who assured her that no one looked too closely at the staff, and there were plenty of places she could work onboard where no one would see her.

  Once engaged in her deception, she’d not been able to take a deep breath lest their plan be discovered. Even when she boarded the liner with the employee papers Delia had secured for her, she’d barely been able to relax her vigilance. Thankfully, when she confessed to the purser she had no idea how to do the job, he and the staff had taken her under their wing. For the month long journey between worlds, she’d learned how to properly prepare salads of all kinds. In the art of salad preparation, she’d become a master.

  After the liner, she’d found other odd jobs, saving enough to purchase berths on other ships—all leaving the region of the colonial Greek planet-states. Yet it was never enough, and she had few skills to peddle. If not for Shaw allowing her onboard, she might still be trapped out there or worse, incarcerated and on her way home to face her family in shame.

  She cleaned up the utensils and cutting board she’d used. Then left them to dry in the sink before carrying her salad back to the lounge and the screen. Shaw had as yet not returned to the ship from whatever business he had on the planet. Maybe she could relax with New Genesis’ entertainment offerings or at least check the news for any reports on the assault.

  * * *

  Six hours later, she couldn't get past the way all the local stations only discussed how everything was going either wonderful, amazing, great and any other adjective they could find to define how swell life was on the colony world. No place was realistically this well off. The happy image projected by their news programs focused on interviews with a local population regarding a woman deemed to be the best neighbor within her community.

  Another focused on a teacher whose students excelled in all subjects. A part of her enjoyed seeing individuals lauded for their accomplishments. Yet, how was it so possible they had no crimes? No disputes? No unfortunate events? Accidents? Not even legal proceedings?

  “Computer…halt program. Can we reach the libraries? Access periodicals?”

  “Your guest access allows for such contact, Miss Anderson
. Please hold.”

  Her specific guest access? One answer at a time, perhaps. At least her access allowed her to satisfy curiosity.

  “Please define your parameters, Miss Anderson.”

  “I would like a selection, periodicals, magazine—anything where current events are the focus.”

  “Accessing, beginning download. Expected delay of five minutes to complete.”

  She carried her dishes to the kitchen services area. First she put away the ones she’d left to dry, then she cleaned the ones she’d used. After a stop at the facilities, she returned to the lounge. Tucking her robe around her, she curled into the chair and studied the screen.

  “Ready for viewing, Miss Anderson.”

  She spent the next two hours scrolling through periodicals and found their version of current events not much better than their screened shows. It left a sour taste in her mouth, the absolute perfection of the society. What dark underbelly did they disguise with so much effort? Humans were intrinsically flawed and though her public education might have been lacking at home, her father had provided her with many tutors throughout the years. The discourses of Socrates suggested nobility could not exist without the flaws inherent to man. Abandoning the reading, Tika leaned back in the chair.

  An assault had taken place on the captain just a few hundred feet from where she sat. She’d seen drunks, and prostitutes during her wanderings following the captain—so how was it possible their news had no comments on it?

  By the time Shaw returned to the ship hours later, she’d reached an even less charitable state. The sound of his boots clicking along the metal grate of the hall pulled her attention. He barely spared a glance in her direction as he continued down the hall. The sound of a hatch releasing then resealing was the only sound in the quiet.

  “Welcome back,” she muttered aloud with no expectation of a response. “How was your day?”