Asimov's SF, September 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Jill's family bid her good-bye. As the homeless, two-strike daughter of an OD, Shirlee would be in until eighteen. They kissed her, saying, “Good-bye, curly."

  “Be good."

  “An’ keep the King with you."

  All she could say was, “Kiss Lomax for me."

  Jill wiped her eyes, swearing, “I will."

  Another sort of kiss awaited inside. Happily, she was in for a drug offense, which meant more “peer counseling.” Shirlee was delighted to find that Ivan was now a trustee. “Teens Teaching Teens” helped her immensely in dealing with Mom's death, giving Shirlee a purpose, a boyfriend, and an astounding new feeling of worth.

  As Ivan's prize student, she learned the fine art of evading surveillance. Like how to silence a mike, or sidetrack a camera so it showed only an empty room. If you could make out in JuVee, you could make out anywhere.

  Asked why he was in until eighteen, Ivan would only say, “Drugs, of course, and debauching little girls."

  She grinned back. “Sounds totally sick."

  Between bouts of sex education, Ivan boasted about his boyhood on Ashanti, claiming, “B-system's the best."

  Not what Shirlee had heard. “No way."

  “There's no law, not like this at least."

  She mouthed a kiss. “This is not so bad."

  Ivan laughed. “B-system beats this with a steel bat."

  “So you say."

  “Ashanti has Thals, Greenies, SuperCats, and floating cities...."

  “Is that good?"

  “Better than picking strawberries.” And safer.

  Conditions of confinement kept Ivan from ever getting her bra off. Most of their dates were on camera, where she learned to keep a poker face, reciting the anti-drug mantra, while her peer tutor brought her to a concealed orgasm.

  At eighteen, Ivan was released and deported to the B-system. Seeing Ivan set free was her second worst day in JuVee.

  Even more alone, she moped about for months, missing Ivan, and remembering how Niger B had hung over the dark fields. Now her love circled that gleaming red star, while she stayed locked in Heartbreak Hotel.

  Finally her gloom was broken by a happy, “Hey, druggie! How ya doin'?"

  Carol stood casually among some new arrivals. Grabbing her friend, Shirlee asked, “What are you doing here?"

  Carol smirked. “Two to eighteen."

  “Whatever for?"

  “Nothin’ you wouldn't do."

  That was for sure. Tall, red-haired Carol was far more cautious than Shirlee, deftly switching the subject. “Where's your too cute boyfriend?"

  “Back in the B-system."

  Carol ran a hand through Shirlee's prison-cut blond curls. “That's a real crime."

  New girls gave them room, looking fearful and envious. Two repeat offenders, hugging and kissing before the cams, while openly mocking the law.

  Carol came on like a blast of cherry-flavored oxygen, insisting they both volunteer for work release. Which was a total misnomer. They were not released at all, but taken through the de-spin system, to labor in v-suits on the habitat docks, loading goods and produce onto robo-cargo carriers. Cyborgs did the heavy moving, but small tasks in zero-g were more cheaply done with prison labor.

  Shirlee liked seeing the cargo carriers depart, headed outsystem, or downsun toward Freetown. Long cylindrical gravity drives, pushing huge colored cargo spheres, made them look like flying lollypops.

  Carol smiled at her enthusiasm, saying, “This is why I am in JuVee."

  “To get an unpaid job at the docks?"

  “Because I was caught with contraband."

  “Contraband? How'd that happen?"

  Carol turned her back to the cams, mouthing the word, “Secret."

  During the next rest period, Carol dragged her into a corner, far from the nearest mike. With their helmets tipped back, Carol leaned over, saying, “Let me lick your ear."

  Shirlee nodded at the cams. “They'll think we're necking."

  “Good.” Leaning closer, Carol whispered, “Not all this stuff gets on the right ship."

  Shirlee's drug tutoring kicked in, pretending to do one thing while whispering another. “What do you mean?"

  “Stuff gets rerouted."

  “What stuff?"

  “Expensive stuff. Drugs, high-tech trinkets, even people."

  “People?"

  “Sure. Illegals from the B-system. Or folks who just aim to disappear."

  Ivan had been from B-system, and totally illegal.

  “Some stuff ended up with me,” Carol explained. “So I ended up here."

  Carol let go of her and laughed. Shirlee pushed her friend away, then they sealed helmets and went back to work.

  It did not stop there. When they were alone, between supper and lights out, Carol lay down beside her pretending to watch 3V. What started out like seduction ended up being a business proposition. Cautious Carol had not just happened to land in JuVee. All this was carefully planned. Carol had a memorized list of shipments to be switched, and wanted her help.

  “Why?"

  “Because I want out of here.” Carol stared straight into the 3V docudrama about the founding of Freetown. “Not just out of JuVee. I want to go somewhere. Liberia. The B-system, I don't much care."

  “I mean why me?"

  Carol nudged her. “I need you."

  And not in the normal way. Taking her hand, Carol told her, “The Boogie man got Tina."

  Shirlee kept her face set, staring into the 3V, watching history reenacted, saying a silent prayer for Tina.

  “Two months ago, just like Didi. All he left was her ID."

  Carol squeezed her hand hard. “Someone has to help me switch the loads."

  Trying not to cry, Shirlee nodded. She would do it. Not because it was smart, or safe, or because she stood to make a lot—but because Carol was all she had left.

  Carol had it totally planned out, showing her how to reprogram the robots, sending cargo shooting off in new directions. Heavy lifters meant for Freetown sailed off to the B-system, replaced by their weight in illegal pharmaceuticals. Both recipients would presumably be pleased.

  Such trades were completely illegal, but that hardly bothered Shirlee, being already in jail. After what happened to Tina, she was not sure she wanted out.

  Carol herself could not wait to go. When the pre-programmed switches were complete, Carol was leaving in a special shipment, an entire cargo ship diverted to the B-system. Shirlee asked, “Won't this give it all away?"

  “My leaving will give it away,” Carol reminded her. “This provides the biggest payoff."

  “What about the Navy?"

  “Java is off chasing slavers.” That was the nearest naval vessel, a J-class corvette assigned to the system.

  Carol reached out, stroking her hair. “If you don't like hijacking, just call in sick. I can do this alone."

  “No way.” Shirlee shook her head, grimly determined to see Carol safely away.

  Her friend sighed. “Wish I could take you too."

  There was only room for one in the container set aside for Carol. Too bad. Dad, Ivan, and now Carol would all be in the B-system, while she was left behind.

  Careful Carol included her in everything. Together they disabled the security cams, switching Carol's container for a load of freeze-dried produce meant for the Leading Trojans.

  Unsure what to say when Carol disappeared, Shirlee knew that without camera evidence the worst they could do was put her in lock-down, since she was already in until eighteen. Going through the de-spin system together, they suited up in zero-g. Cameras were showing another shift, recorded days ago.

  Shirlee went to check out the container, while Carol made sure security systems would send it through. There was enough food and air in the container to keep Carol going until it was time to emerge and hijack the ship.

  Happy to see everything secure, Shirlee went to get Carol.

  All she found was Carol's broken ID anklet, floa
ting lazily in zero-g.

  Shirlee froze, heartsick and terrified. Until that instant, she thought the Boogie man could never get her here.

  What a fool! First Didi, then Tina, now Carol. She was sure to be next.

  With the cams gone, she had no hope of getting through the de-spin system. Fighting tears, Shirlee did a zero-g flip, and swarmed back toward the cargo port, kicking off bulkheads to speed herself along.

  Carol's container was open and waiting, already aboard the smart-loader. Opening her suit at the ankle, Shirlee tore off her ID band, letting it float free. That sent out a broadband alarm, but she was not waiting to see who came for her.

  Climbing into the cramped container, she told the smart-loader to stow her away, and seal the ship. Then to lock down and forget any of this ever happened. Nothing would show that she was inside.

  Concealed in the sealed ship, she shut down her suit, so no stray ergs would betray her. Lying curled in darkness, like a baby in a padded womb, she cried for Carol. Her sobs smothered the slight tremor of separation, as robo-container ship CSR15379 departed Monrovia dock, heading for the Leading Trojans at 2-gs.

  Acceleration pressed her deep into the padding, and Shirlee knew she was on her way. More alone than ever.

  * * * *

  Stowaway

  When she had cried herself out, Shirlee lay in the cramped darkness, feeling the firm tug of acceleration. She could lie here, safe and secure, as long as she wished. At 2-gs, she would reach the Leading Trojans in a few days. There CSR15379 would be unloaded, and who knows what would happen. Did they have JuVee in the Trojans? Probably.

  She sorely missed Carol's cunning flirtatious mayhem. With Carol leading, any catastrophe was her friend's fault. Now she had literally put herself in Carol's place.

  And Carol had not been headed for the Trojans. Carol wanted to go to the B-system. Why not? Dad was there. And Ivan.

  Taking the ship to the B-system was hijacking. Another felony, to go with stowing away, electronic fraud, smuggling, and grand larceny, plus her previous convictions. By now her life was hopelessly illegal.

  What would the King do? Elviz was a federal officer, who had seen both sides of the badge, and felt the law worked best in his own hands. Elviz would say, “What's really keeping you in this box is fear of the Boogie man."

  Too true. He might have gotten aboard the ship. He could be right outside, waiting for her.

  But if the Boogie man was aboard, would he give her a free ride to the Trojans?

  “Hell no, girl.” Elviz made his own luck. “Boogie man's got days to find you, and break into that container."

  Better to face fate head on. Fighting fear and gravity, Shirlee pushed herself up and unsealed the container. Then she cautiously lifted the lid.

  No Boogie man, just stacks of silent containers, identical to hers. So far so good.

  CSR15379 had no crew, but it did have a command deck, several levels below. Carefully, Shirlee climbed down the stacked containers. At 2-gs, it felt like she was carrying someone piggyback. She stopped at the interior command lock, her heart beating hard, afraid what she might find.

  Sealing her helmet, she purged the lock, just in case. Putting it through a full cycle, from vacuum to ship normal, would kill any air breather inside.

  When the pressure reequalized, she entered the lock. No dead Boogie man. Darn.

  Searching the lock for protection, she found an emergency kit, with a lethal looking flare gun. Not a real blaster, but it would have to do.

  Shirlee dilated the inner door.

  Relief surged through her, seeing an empty command cabin, with its paired acceleration couches and simple control console. She had a ship.

  Quickly, she sat down at the controls and evacuated the cabin. Now no one could enter without a v-suit, and tons of pressure held the inner lock closed.

  For the first time since she'd seen Carol's broken ID band, Shirlee felt tolerably safe. Surrounded by nothingness.

  Setting aside the flare gun, she checked the security cams, running them back to before she got aboard, when the Boogie man was outside grabbing Carol. Again nothing.

  By now she knew camera scans were near to useless, having rigged them repeatedly. Still, she felt safe enough to raise cabin pressure, while keeping the locks evacuated. No one could enter without pressuring an air-lock, or cutting a hole in the cabin. She was bound to hear that.

  Secure for the moment, Shirlee unsuited and flipped on the screens, taking a look at local space. Great brown-banded Mali, Monrovia's gas giant primary, covered half the screens. Monrovia hung nearby, with stars reflecting off her huge tilted mirrors. Liberia and Freetown were lost in the glow of Niger A. Niger B was smaller, and redder, but distinct as a beacon.

  She was meant to be in the B-system. And if it took one more crime to get her there, so be it. Elviz would understand.

  Shirlee began reprogramming the command console, seizing total control of the ship. Complete with her own whimsical access codes.

  Monrovia control immediately objected:

  * * * *

  CSR15379 return to autopilot

  * * * *

  She did not answer.

  * * * *

  CSR15379 return to autopilot, and submit a full status profile....

  * * * *

  Profile yourself. They would not even say please. She set the autopilot for a 1-g boost to Ashanti, relaxing into the couch as her weight returned to normal. B-system, here we come.

  Monrovia control really hated that, but she did not dignify their shrill demands with a response.

  There was nothing they could do. Carol had planned her escape perfectly. All the crewed ships were either far downsun, or on the other side of the system. Nor could they run her down with a regular robo-freighter. Too bad Carol could not see the resulting havoc.

  “Nice goin', girlfriend."

  Determined not to waste Carol's last gift, Shirlee scrolled through the ship's manifest, looking for something to use against the Boogie man—if he was aboard.

  Damn! No convenient stash of small arms and battle armor. Her hijacked cargo was relentlessly peaceful, mostly food, medicine, and vacuum equipment. Plus some commercial explosives, and huge ice-mining lasers that would not fit on her hip. Useful stuff in the Leading Trojans, but small help to her.

  She settled on a hand-sized laser cutter listed in the control deck repair kit. At close range it could slice any Boogie man in half.

  Armed with the repair laser, she suited up, purged the cargo area, and diligently searched the ship. No Boogie man, just stacks and stacks of sealed containers.

  Short of opening every container, Shirlee had done all she could. She retreated to the control deck, with its recycler, auto-galley, and twin couches, where she could sit back, setting the 3V for sense-surround.

  Suddenly she was on a tropical isle, or the Pleistocene savanna of Glory. Or better yet, window shopping in a Freetown mall. Shirlee could even have made purchases, if she were not a convict felon fleeing the system.

  Most exciting were views of the B-system, coming from navigation beacons, or human settlements on the outer planets. Greenies might have magical floating cities on Ashanti, but they were utterly uninterested in virtual entertainment. Greenies used 3V for communication, not to replace reality.

  Humans, however, were shameless. Shirlee sat through incredible come-ons from B-system sirens, who stepped straight out of the 3V to shed their scanty costumes on the command deck. Totally wasted on her, but even more educational than JuVee. Pleasure palaces in far off places promised to satisfy her every desire, no mater how lurid. Or far-fetched.

  Scary sick, and not in a good way. She preferred the standard commercial pitches, from habitants in search of A-system retirees or high-tech smugglers trying to unload their goods—the cosmic shopping channel that she and Carol had fed.

  All the time she kept looking for Ivan, or Dad, hoping to see one of them shilling for some drug supplier. Or posing as a pleasure
habitat's satisfied customer. No luck.

  But she did see Didi. Jill's cousin who disappeared from the strawberry fields. Someone Shirlee assumed was long dead. Snatched by the Boogie man.

  Yet there was Didi, inviting her to a XXX spa. Older than when she'd disappeared, but not by much. This was a dated 3V from a cut-rate paradise, catering to budget minded pedophiles.

  Horror and relief washed over her. Didi was alive. Not doing well, but alive. Or she was when this 3V was made.

  Shirlee's whole world spun about her. If Didi was alive, Tina might be, and Carol. She shouted with glee, wanting someone, anyone, to share this with.

  Of course there was no one, since speed-of-light lag cut her off from the cosmos. Instead she sent a terse tight-beamed message to Jill's family:

  * * * *

  DD is alive N the B-system.

  * * * *

  Anything more would make them feel worse.

  Close to turnaround, a ship showed up on radar, headed straight at her. Not just any ship, a fast crewed vessel, decelerating at 3-gs from near light speed, with “bandit” written all over it. Who else would be hurtling toward an inhabited system while naval protection was away?

  Her new neighbor signaled her:

  * * * *

  CSR15379, you are off course, do you require assistance?

  * * * *

  No thank you. Especially when 3V showed who was sending.

  Curled in the oncoming ship's command couch was a SuperCat, a genetic combination of humans and big cats, with a long furry body, human hands, a bulging forehead, and six-inch dagger-like canines. Homo smilo-don. Three-gs did not bother the mutant beast in the least. He asked languidly, “Hello human, are you there?"

  She made no answer, hoping the gene-spliced killer would go on his way.

  “CSR15379, are you responding? Or are you merely a menace to navigation?"

  He could not catch her, not at near-light closing velocity. But he could put a warhead into her out of sheer frustration.

  Cautiously, she opened a voice-only channel. “This is not CSR15379."

  “What ship are you?"