Free Space

by Sean Danker

  The public areas were spacious, vividly decorated, and generally festive. There were plenty of people around, though Imperial Pointe had not yet reached the level of occupancy that made it feel choked—though it would soon, now that hostilities had ceased, and galactic commerce was quickly getting back to normal.

  I watched Salmagard as she strolled beside me. I should’ve been on the lookout for imperials, but she was more important at the moment. It was immediately clear to me that she didn’t have a lot of experience with large stations, which made sense. Obviously her ardently proper family wouldn’t want her in this kind of environment, and she’d spent most of the time between Nidaros and this moment in medical treatment, or aboard the Julian.

  Maybe she hadn’t gotten much shore leave, if any. Maybe, apart from whatever stops she made in assignment travel, this was her first time on a galactic station.

  She had her calm face on, but she was looking around with interest, and not hiding it as well as she wanted to.

  Imperial Pointe was a clean, and in my opinion relatively classy, example of the Free Trade business model. All the same, there were people and things on display that Salmagard wasn’t used to.

  Things you probably didn’t see often on Old Earth. Exotic fashion sense. Personal aesthetic choices that defied imperial ideals. Loud music, bright lights. There was no aura of institutionalized sensibilities. That was something only found in imperial space. It was uniquely Evagardian.

  On Free Trade stations, decorations tended to be digital and holographic. Projected light was easier to work with and more flexible than a physical object. On Old Earth, decorations were overwhelmingly physical. That wasn’t very practical, but the Old Earth fixation on the memories and ways of the Earth before the Unification had never struck me as being very practical in general.

  The Empire was diverse; depending on which city in which province under which Tetrad on which continent on which planet of which imperial system you were dealing with, there was no telling what kinds of culture and values you’d have on your hands. The general precepts of the Grand Duchess’ ideology and imperial law would always be there, but Evagardian culture left plenty of room for local improvisation.

  I’d never heard of this Morocco place, Salmagard’s homeland, but the way she was reacting to the station inclined me to think the people there tended toward the more conservative, stodgy end of the spectrum.

  I knew I had a rose-tinted view of aristocratic life, but I couldn’t help it. It was because of those aspirations that I’d done what I had.

  It just hadn’t worked out.

  Salmagard would’ve been content to wander the station all night. She was completely distracted by a ten-meter-tall advertisement for glowing body paint, equal parts fascinated and aghast. She couldn’t get enough of the sights and sounds—the endless rows, tiers, multilevel domes of businesses, cafés, and restaurants—but we had a schedule to keep.

  The most expensive restaurant on Imperial Pointe was actually at the bottom of the station, completely enclosed, and very exclusive because of things that I knew would not appeal to Salmagard. And now that I wasn’t a prince anymore, I couldn’t afford it anyway.

  Instead of that place, I took her to the Red Yonder Ballroom: the officially licensed Red Yonder restaurant that was at the top of the station, occupying a sizable dome with a breathtaking view of Red Yonder itself.

  The dining room was gently tiered, making the most of the space so that every table had a view of the dome and everything outside it. Dampening fields kept it all quiet, despite the fact that there were no physical barriers between the tables. It was spacious, and that appealed to me. I’d eaten there only once before, but I’d found it quite relaxing.

  It was a popular place, but I had reservations. If we were doing this properly, Salmagard would’ve been the one making all the plans, but we weren’t.

  We followed an animated line on the floor to a table at the far end of one of the upper tiers, an especially good spot because we could look down on the whole of the restaurant as well as all of space.

  We sat down and the table glowed to life.

  “Would you like to hear tonight’s live music?” it asked with an exaggerated Marragardian accent.

  I looked down at the very bottom of the tiers. The band’s costumes left no doubt that they were Martian. That wasn’t my kind of music. I glanced at Salmagard, whose expression told me she felt the same way.

  “No, thanks,” I said, keying up the table’s menu and setting it to play something quiet and ambient. “I forgot how strong these places come on.”

  But we did have a good view.

  Red Yonder itself was apart from the station, which was arranged in a sort of crescent around it. Tonight it was lit up with red and gold, and soon there would be a light show as the station’s day cycle wound down.

  Bright white lines shot out from Red Yonder, the tracks connecting it to a dozen different ports on Imperial Pointe, where visitors could board special shuttles that would carry them slowly to the park itself. Getting there was part of the experience. I’d enjoyed it the first time, but after that it became a little tedious.

  Tonight it would make for a few quiet moments alone with Salmagard.

  A robotic chef done up to look like something from the twentieth century unfolded from the table, eyes flashing yellow.

  “Howdy,” it said with a bizarre accent I wasn’t familiar with. “I’m y’all’s cooking friend for tonight, so let’s get friendly. What y’all wanna eat? Come on, lay it on me—you know I’m the best in the galaxy. Ain’t nothing I can’t make. Might stop your heart but that’s what stasis is for. Come on now, come on. Don’t be shy. I know you’re hungry. I can read y’all’s vitals.”

  The robot spoke very quickly. Salmagard stared at it. She definitely wasn’t used to galactic stations.

  “Okonomiyaki,” I said, and the robot’s head turned toward me.

  “Now yer talking, pardner. Everybody knows about my pans from here to Isaka. Now how about your pretty little date, then? Where y’all from?”

  “Luna,” I replied.

  “Luna. I tell y’all I make the best Luna deep-dish proteins this side of the Commonwealth—let me tempt you. Still thinking, darling? How ’bout a drink?” it asked me.

  “Wine,” I said.

  “What kind, amigo?”

  “Commonwealth.”

  “Which system?”

  “Frontier.”

  “Which planet?”

  “New Earth.”

  “Which region?”

  “South Indies.”

  “Red, white, or pink?”

  “Pink.”

  “Price range?”

  “High end.”

  “How about a Neo Jersey Grapefruit, ten years old.”

  “That’ll work.”

  “Coming your way, pardner. Make up your mind yet, sweetheart?” The chef turned back to Salmagard.

  She cleared her throat, almost looking flustered. “Have you got anything unique or exotic? Something I can’t get anywhere else?”

  “Anything you can dream up, honeybunch.”

  She was looking to me for help, but she was on her own. I didn’t know what Salmagard liked to eat. If she could beat out all the other trainees to become a negotiator, she was more than qualified to order her own food.

  “May I have this Free Trade platter?”

  “Oh, you know your book learnin’, pardner. I’m on it—don’t you two go nowheres.”

  Laughing uproariously, the chef folded back into the table, and it was suddenly very quiet.

  “What did I just order?” Salmagard asked me.

  “It’s a big dish that’s basically a history lesson.” I shrugged. “I hope you’re interested in Free Trade culture. I think usually people get it to share. One of my bodyguards ordered o
ne when I was here as Dalton. It was fun. Good tourist choice.”

  She looked intrigued.

  “I do like Nipponese food,” she said, looking at the holographic representation of the dish I’d ordered. “But you didn’t tell him to make it Earth or Kakugo.”

  “He didn’t ask.”

  The table opened and our wine rose into view. I picked up the bottle and the corkscrew, and Salmagard turned over the glasses.

  “It’s pretty,” she said, looking out at Red Yonder again.

  “It’s even better when you’re over there.” I could see her eyes lingering on the infamous tower.

  “Isn’t it quite exclusive?”

  “You have to get your spot ahead of time,” I said, getting the wine open and pouring.

  She turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “When did you make these plans?”

  “On Payne Station,” I replied. “I was stuck in a crawl space waiting out an imperial patrol. I used the time to take care of some things.”

  “They were searching for you and you were thinking about me?”

  “I never stop thinking about you.”

  That wasn’t exactly true, and she knew it. But where was the harm?

  Salmagard sat back and swallowed, clamming up. I politely poured the wine and placed her glass, pretending not to notice how awkward she was being. I’d never seen someone work so hard at not blushing. What had happened to make the imperial gentry think that being honest about your feelings was uncouth?

  I lifted my glass, and she took the cue, clearing her throat. I understood now that the throat clearing was her tell.

  “Let’s say this one’s for Deilani,” I said.

  That sobered her a little. “Indeed,” she said, and we both drank. The wine was exceptional. And it had better be; being a fugitive didn’t pay very well.

  The robot chef erupted from the table with a cry, and we both choked.

  “Well, howdy! I bet you missed me—you look like you missed me. Good wine? You know it is. I recommended it. I got y’all’s food here—let’s do this. Let’s do it big like we do in Texas. All right now.”

  With six arms, the robot began to shovel raw ingredients onto the table, which divided itself into sections with cooking surfaces, bowls of ice, and everything he would need.

  The arms worked furiously. Raw vegetables were tossed into a wok, batter was being stirred, and slices of protein were being laid out in attractive patterns on Salmagard’s platter. Holograms leapt into the air over each of her morsels, explaining what they were and why they were historically significant.

  Martian Brie: Served when the Trigan Aerospace-Station Conglomerate CEO and noted entrepreneur Tenbrook discussed the plans for PERDITA.

  Salmagard tried to read everything, but at the same time she was trying to watch our chef. That wasn’t her fault; it was distracting. Overwhelming, even.

  Our meal took shape rapidly. My okonomiyaki was sizzling nicely, and two of the arms were drizzling sauce onto the griddle.

  Traditional Old Earth Grilled Cheese Sandwich (Extra-Sharp Cheddar): Served when Prince Mugambo met with the Order of Clerics to found the Lumbley Trade Council. HC 2101.

  It took the chef all of five minutes to prepare and lay out the feast, and he immediately vanished back into our table. (“Holler if y’all need me!”)

  “So,” Salmagard asked, breaking the jarring quiet that followed the chef’s departure. She sipped her wine and gazed at Red Yonder. “Where did you book us?”

  “Hmm? Oh. In the hotel.”

  “Not the tower?”

  “No.” I couldn’t tell if she was being shy or just herself. “We’re in the same place as the people who come here with their kids. Nothing your family could possibly object to.”

  “So you do know how to be a gentleman,” she murmured.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I was a prince.”

  “And I know all your songs.”

  She had me there. Yes, Prince Dalton’s lyrics were well-known to be very forthright and intimate. “Do you? You don’t know which songs were mine and which were his before I replaced him. I had to copy his style. So is any of it really mine?”

  “There’s also that you lie for a living. And you did destroy the Ganraen capital.”

  “Yeah,” I said, looking down at my glass. “Yeah, I did do that, didn’t I?”

  2

  “WE’RE a little ahead of schedule,” I said, looking at my chrono. I’d expected to spend more time in the restaurant.

  “We can’t just go?” Salmagard seemed puzzled.

  “They’re always at capacity. For us to get over there, someone has to leave. We’ll have to wait.”

  The disembarkation atrium was dim and quiet; only people scheduled to depart could get in, and we were the only ones at this particular dock. I followed Salmagard to the panoramic viewport. The light track curled down and away from the station, forming a smooth curve leading to Red Yonder. That was the path we would follow when it was our turn. I could see a carriage leaving one of the other ports, heading for the park.

  Our carriage arrived. It was the size of a large room, and completely transparent, though from the outside it looked reflective, like a drop of mercury. There were a lavish bar and deep, comfortable seats. There were no controls, no pilot. It was all automated.

  I lit up my holo to show our reservation, and we boarded. The doors closed behind us, and I sank onto the sofa, where Salmagard joined me.

  “You ask a lot of questions about Earth,” she said. “What about Cohengard?”

  “What about it?”

  “What’s it like?”

  “I don’t know if I can tell you anything you don’t already know.” I shrugged. “You know history. We have a lot of immigrants. A lot of people under sustenance. There’s a pretty thriving counter-Empress culture, of course. New Unity. Lots of recruiting for them.” I leaned back and thought about it. “It’s not the most attractive city. Some big buildings were destroyed and never rebuilt, so it looks a little spotty. I feel like a lot of people don’t really want to be there. There’s an increased IS and EI presence. A couple military bases. One of the adjuncts for Second Fleet command is there. There’s also a really big shipyard.”

  “A shipyard? Planetside?”

  “Colony ships. Lots of very heavy, very deep colony recruiting too. It’s a good place for it. Everybody wants out. They want a new start.”

  “Oh.”

  I could see Salmagard eyeing the bar curiously, but she made no move toward it. At dinner she’d reluctantly stopped after only a single glass of wine. Propriety. It wasn’t that she wasn’t allowed to enjoy herself, but in her circles there was so much emphasis on appearances that she wouldn’t risk anything that might even slightly compromise her control.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What sort of place did you grow up in?”

  “I was raised by the district.” Might as well admit it. “A pretty big institution.”

  “You’re an orphan? How did you end up in the Service?”

  “I didn’t. Well, not the same Service you’re in. I was recruited.” I leaned back. “I went into sustenance when I was pretty young. That’s common,” I added. “For people in my area, not just people without family. I graduated. I had a . . . couple friends, but we didn’t have anything. We were all in sustenance. I’m not going to say we didn’t have opportunities, but they weren’t great. No one was going to hand us anything.”

  I saw the way she was looking at me. “I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. One of my friends was trying to do something that they honestly didn’t have a good chance at. And my other friend didn’t want to apply himself, because . . . You know, by the time we graduated, New Unity already had its hooks in him. Anti-Empress people don’t get very many apprenticeships.”

  “What about you?”

&nbs
p; “I didn’t care about any of that, but I let him drag me along for some of it. I was actually thinking about trying to get an apprenticeship in . . . Well, I shouldn’t say.”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “No, it’s embarrassing.” I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter—it didn’t happen. They came for me, and I thought it was a good opportunity. Me and my friends—we didn’t have a future. We knew war was coming. The government knew it too. They were checking aptitudes and recruiting. My friends didn’t have good chances. I thought I could do it for the three of us. That’s why I went for it.”

  That was the truth. Salmagard said nothing.

  “Things didn’t go like I thought they would.” That was true as well.

  “How old were you?”

  “Pretty young.”

  “So you were in place before the war even started,” she said, looking impressed.

  “At that point war was inevitable.”

  She looked at me curiously. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Free Trade space has been a problem for a long time. Back then the Empress called for a summit to discuss laying some ground rules for all the annexation that was going on; without getting into specifics, that was all the Royals needed. The war was going to happen either way, so it might as well happen before they lost a massive part of their expansion prospects.” I took a deep breath. “They all knew. They had all known for a long time.”

  “Is it really all just a race to see who can snatch up as much of Free Trade space as they can first? Was that really what was happening?” Salmagard asked, looking grim.

  “The Empire was being classy about it; Ganrae, not so much. There was some hostile action. That wasn’t the only problem, but it pushed us into open fighting faster. Free Trade shot callers knew which way the wind was blowing, and they were starting to favor imperial interests. That didn’t sit well with the Commonwealth. They didn’t teach you all this?”