Artemis: A Novel

by Andy Weir

  “No complaints here,” I said. “I’d rather be a hardworking pauper in Artemis than a rich woman on Earth. This is my home—”

  He held up his hand to silence me. “I tried to prepare you for the world. I never went easy on you, because the world certainly wouldn’t go easy on you, and I wanted you to be prepared. We’ve fought at times, of course—find me a parent and child who haven’t. And there are certainly aspects of your life I wish were different. But in the grand scheme of things, you became a strong, self-reliant woman and I’m proud of you. And, through extension, proud of myself for raising you.”

  My lip quivered a bit.

  “I’ve lived my life by the teachings of Muhammad,” he said. “I try to be honest and true in all my decisions. But, like any man, I am flawed. I sin. If your peace of mind comes at the price of a small tarnish on my soul, then so be it. I can only hope I’ve built up enough good grace with Allah that he will forgive me.”

  He took both my hands. “Jasmine. I accept your recompense, even though I know the source is dishonest. And I forgive you.”

  I gave him a firm handshake and we called it a day.

  Not really. I collapsed into his arms and cried like a child. I don’t want to talk about it.

  —

  Time to face the music. I waited outside Ngugi’s door. The next few minutes would determine whether I got to stay or had to leave.

  Lene Landvik hobbled out on her crutches. “Oh! Hi, Jazz. I transferred the money to your account a few days ago.”

  “I saw that. Thanks.”

  “O Palácio sold me Sanchez Aluminum this morning. It’ll take weeks to work out the paperwork, but we agreed on a price and we’re good to go. Loretta’s already designing the next smelter. She has some improvements in mind. The new one will prioritize silicon extraction and—”

  “You’re keeping Loretta Sanchez?!”

  “Ah,” she said. “Yeah.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?!”

  “I just paid half a billion slugs for a smelting company that can’t smelt. I need somebody to rebuild it. Who better than Sanchez?”

  “But she’s the enemy!”

  “Anyone who makes you money is a friend,” Lene said. “I learned that from Dad. Besides, she helped save your life like four days ago. Maybe you guys are even now?”

  I folded my arms. “This is going to bite you in the ass, Lene. She can’t be trusted.”

  “Oh, I don’t trust her. I just need her. Big difference.” She cocked her head at the doorway. “Ngugi says KSC’s eager to get oxygen production back online. The city won’t be too strict with safety regulations. Weird, huh? You’d think they’d get more picky, not less.”

  “Sanchez in charge…” I sighed. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I came up with the plan.”

  “Well, neither was knocking out the whole city. Plans change.” She checked her watch. “I have to get to a conference call. Good luck in there. Let me know if I can help.”

  She hobbled away. I watched her go for a moment. She seemed taller than before. Probably a trick of the light.

  I took a deep breath and walked into Ngugi’s office.

  Ngugi sat behind her desk. She glared at me over her glasses. “Have a seat.”

  I closed the door and sat in the chair opposite her.

  “I think you know what I have to do, Jasmine. And it isn’t easy for me.” She slid a piece of paper across the desk. I recognized the form—I’d seen it a few days earlier in Rudy’s office. It was a formal deportation order.

  “Yeah, I know what you have to do,” I said. “You have to thank me.”

  “You must be joking.”

  “Thanks, Jazz,” I said. “Thanks for keeping O Palácio from taking over. Thanks for eliminating an outdated contract that would have stood in the way of a massive economic boom. Thanks for sacrificing yourself to save Artemis. Here’s a trophy.”

  “Jasmine, you’re going back to Saudi Arabia.” She tapped the deportation order. “We won’t press charges, and we’ll cover your living expenses until you adjust to Earth gravity. But that’s the best I can do.”

  “After everything I just did for you? You’ll just chuck me out with yesterday’s trash?”

  “It’s not something I want to do, Jasmine. I have to do it. We need to present ourselves as a community that lives under the rule of law. It’s more important now than ever before, because the ZAFO industry is coming. If people think their investments can be blown up without the perpetrator facing justice they won’t invest here at all.”

  “They don’t have a choice,” I said. “We’re the only city on the moon.”

  “We’re not irreplaceable. We’re just convenient,” she said. “If ZAFO companies don’t think they can trust us, they’ll make their own lunar city. One that protects its businesses. I’m grateful for what you’ve done, but I have to sacrifice you for the good of the city.”

  I pulled out a paper of my own and slid it to her.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “My confession,” I said. “Notice I left out any mention of you, the Landviks, or anyone else. It’s just me. I signed it at the bottom.”

  She gave me a puzzled look. “You’re helping me deport you?”

  “No. I’m giving you a ‘Deport Jazz for Free’ card. You’re going to put that in a drawer somewhere and keep it for emergencies.”

  “But I’m deporting you right now.”

  “No, you’re not.” I leaned back in the chair and crossed my legs.

  “Why not?”

  “Everyone seems to forget this, but I’m a smuggler. Not a saboteur, not an action hero, not a city planner. A smuggler. I worked hard to set up my operation and it runs smoothly. In the beginning I had competition. But not anymore. I drove them out of business by having lower prices, better service, and a reputation for keeping my word.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You must be going somewhere with this, but I don’t see where.”

  “Have you ever seen guns in Artemis? Other than the one you have in your desk, I mean?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “How about hard drugs? Heroin? Opium? That sort of thing?”

  “Not at any scale,” she said. “Sometimes Rudy catches a tourist with a personal stash but it’s rare.”

  “Ever wonder why that shit doesn’t get into town?” I pointed to my chest. “Because I don’t let it. No drugs, no guns. And I have a bunch of other rules too. I keep flammables to a minimum. And no live plants. Last thing we need is some weird mold infestation.”

  “Yes, you’re very ethical, but—”

  “What happens when I’m gone?” I asked. “Do you think smuggling will just stop? No. There’ll be a short power vacuum then someone else will take over. No idea who. But will they be as civic-minded as me? Probably not.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  I pressed on. “This city’s about to have a ZAFO boom. There’s going to be jobs galore, construction, and an influx of workers. There’ll be new customers for every business in town. New companies will open to keep up with the demand. The population will spike. You’ve already got estimates, right?”

  She peered at me for a moment. “I think we’ll have ten thousand people within the year.”

  “There ya go,” I said. “More people means more demand for contraband. Thousands of people who might want drugs. Shitloads of money flying around, which means more crime. Those criminals will want guns. They’ll try to sneak them in through whatever smuggling system and black market is in place. What kind of city do you want Artemis to be?”

  She pinched her chin. “That’s…a very good point.”

  “All right. So, you have my confession. That’ll keep me from getting out of line. Checks and balances and all that.”

  She thought about this for an uncomfortably long time. Without breaking eye contact, she pulled the deportation order off her desk and put it in a drawer. I sighed in relief.

  “We still have
the problem of punishment, though…” She leaned forward to her antiquated keyboard computer and began typing. She ran her finger along the screen. “According to this, your account balance is 585,966 slugs.”

  “Yeah…why?”

  “I thought Lene paid you a million.”

  “How did you kno—never mind. I paid off a debt recently. Why is this relevant?”

  “I think some restitution is in order. A fine, if you will.”

  “What?!” I sat bolt-upright. “Artemis doesn’t have fines!”

  “Call it a ‘voluntary contribution to the city’s funds.’ ”

  “There’s nothing ‘voluntary’ about it!”

  “Sure there is.” She settled back into her chair. “You can keep all your money and get deported instead.”

  Ugh. Well, this was a win for me. I could always make more money, but I couldn’t get un-deported. And she had a point. If she didn’t punish me, any asshole could do what I did and expect to get away with it. I’d have to take a slap on the wrist. “Okay. How much?”

  “Five hundred fifty thousand slugs should cover it.”

  I gasped. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

  She smirked. “It’s like you said. I need you to control smuggling. If you have a bunch of money, you might retire. And then where would I be? It’s best to keep you hungry.”

  Logically I came out way ahead. I’d cleared my conscience. But still, the prospect of my account balance going from six digits to five physically hurt.

  “Oh!” She smiled with a realization. “And thanks for volunteering yourself as Artemis’s unpaid, unofficial, import regulatory body. Of course, I’ll hold you responsible for any dangerous contraband in town, regardless of how it got here. So, if some other smuggler crops up and lets guns or drugs in, you can expect a chat with me.”

  I stared blankly. She stared back.

  “I’ll expect that slug transfer by the end of the day,” she said.

  My bluster was completely gone. I stood from the chair and walked over to the door. When I reached for the door handle, I paused.

  “What’s the endgame here?” I asked. “Once the ZAFO companies start up, what happens then?”

  “The next big step is taxes.”

  “Taxes?” I snorted. “People come here because they don’t want to pay taxes.”

  “They already pay taxes—as rent to KSC. We need to change over to a property-ownership and tax model so the city’s wealth is directly tied to the economy. But that’s not for a while.”

  She took off her glasses. “It’s all part of the life-cycle of an economy. First it’s lawless capitalism until that starts to impede growth. Next comes regulation, law enforcement, and taxes. After that: public benefits and entitlements. Then, finally, overexpenditure and collapse.”

  “Wait. Collapse?”

  “Yes, collapse. An economy is a living thing. It’s born full of vitality and dies once it’s rigid and worn out. Then, through necessity, people break into smaller economic groups and the cycle begins anew, but with more economies. Baby economies, like Artemis is right now.”

  “Huh,” I said. “And if you want to make babies, somebody’s got to get fucked.”

  She laughed. “You and I will get along just fine, Jasmine.”

  I left without further comment. I didn’t want to spend any more time inside the mind of an economist. It was dark and disturbing.

  —

  I needed a beer.

  I wasn’t the most popular gal around town. I got some dirty looks in the hallways. But I also spotted a few thumbs-ups from my supporters. I hoped the excitement would fade in time. I don’t want fame. I want people not to notice me at all.

  I walked into Hartnell’s, not sure what to expect. The regular crowd were in their usual seats—even Dale.

  “Hey, it’s Jazz!” Billy called out.

  Suddenly, everyone “passed out.” Each patron tried to outdo the others with ridiculous displays of being unconscious. Some lolled their tongues, others snored with a comedic whistle on the exhale, and a few lay spread-eagle on the floor.

  “Har-har,” I said, “very funny.”

  With my acknowledgment, the prank was over. They resumed their normal quiet drinking with a few subdued giggles.

  “Heya,” said Dale. “Since you forgave me, I figure I can just show up anytime and hang out with you.”

  “I only forgave you because I thought I was going to die,” I said. “But yeah. No take-backs.”

  Billy put a fresh, frosty beer in front of me. “The customers took a vote and decided this round’s on you. You know, to make up for almost killing everyone.”

  “Oh, is that so?” I scanned the bar. “Can’t be helped, I guess. Put ’em all on my tab.”

  Billy poured himself a half pint and raised it in the air. “To Jazz, for saving the city!”

  “To Jazz!” the patrons called out, and raised their glasses. They were happy to toast me if I bought the beer. I guess that was a start.

  “How are the hands?” Dale asked.

  “They’re burned, blistered, and hurt like hell.” I took a sip. “Thanks for saving my life, by the way.”

  “No problem. You might want to thank Sanchez too.”

  “Nah.”

  He shrugged and took another sip. “Tyler was really worried about you.”

  “Mm.”

  “He’d like to see you sometime. The three of us could grab lunch, maybe? On me, of course.”

  I bit back the obnoxious comment that swelled up. It was going to be a doozy too. Instead, I heard myself say, “Yeah, okay.”

  He clearly didn’t expect that answer. “Really? Because—wait, really?”

  “Yeah.” I looked at him and nodded. “Yeah. We can do that.”

  “Wow,” he said. “G-Great! Hey, you want to bring that Svoboda guy?”

  “Svobo? Why would I bring him?”

  “You two are an item, right? He’s clearly crazy about you, and you seemed a little—”

  “No! I mean…it’s not like that.”

  “Oh. You’re just friends, then?”

  “Uh…”

  Dale smirked. “I see.”

  We drank quietly for a moment. Then he said, “You’re totally going to bang that guy.”

  “Oh, shut up!”

  “A thousand slugs says you two get freaky within a month.”

  I glared at him. He glared back.

  “Well?” he said.

  I finished off my pint. “No bet.”

  “Ha!”

  Dear Kelvin,

  Sorry for the slow response. I’m sure you’ve read all about the chloroform leak in the news. People around here call it “The Nap.” There were no deaths or serious injuries, but I’m shooting you an email just to confirm I’m okay.

  I did spend three minutes sizzling on the lunar surface without a spacesuit. That kind of sucked (no vacuum pun intended). Also, everyone knows I was responsible for the Nap.

  Which leads me to my next problem: I’m broke. Again. Long story short, the city took most of my money to bitch-slap me for my indiscretions. Unfortunately, I hadn’t transferred your share of our profits this month, so I’m going to have to owe you. I’ll pay you off the moment I can, you have my word.

  I have some legwork for you: There’s a guy named “Jin Chu” (might be an alias) headed back to Earth right now. He claimed to be from Hong Kong and that’s probably true. He works for a Chinese materials research company. I don’t know which one.

  He got sent home from Artemis for being naughty. They shipped him out a few days ago, so he must be aboard the Gordon. That means you’ve got four days before he arrives at KSC. Hire a detective or whatever to find out where he works. We need that company’s name.

  Because Kelvin, old buddy, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. That company is about to make billions. I’m going to invest as much as I can in it and I suggest you do the same. Long story—I’ll send you a more detailed email later.

&
nbsp; Aside from that, we’re back to business as usual. Keep the goods coming. Also, we’ll be ramping up our smuggling volume soon. Artemis is going to have a population boom. More customers coming our way!

  We’re going to be rich, buddy. Filthy rich.

  And hey, once that happens, you should come visit. I’ve learned a lot about the value of friends lately and you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I’d like to meet you in person. And besides, who doesn’t want to come to Artemis?

  It’s the greatest little city in the worlds.

  People I want to thank:

  David Fugate, my agent, without whom I would still be blogging my stories on nights and weekends.

  Julian Pavia, my editor, for being a pain in my ass at exactly the right times.

  The entire team at Crown and the Random House sales force for their hard work and support. You’re an army too numerous to name individually here, but please know I’m incredibly grateful to have had so many smart people believe in my work and get it out into the world.

  A special shoutout is due to my longtime publicist Sarah Breivogel, whose efforts have been instrumental in keeping me sane over the last few years.

  For their smart feedback in various arenas, but most especially for helping me tackle the challenge of writing a female narrator, Molly Stern (publisher), Angeline Rodriguez (Julian’s assistant), Gillian Green (my UK editor), Ashley (my girlfriend), Mahvash Siddiqui (friend, who also helped make sure the portrayal of Islam was accurate), and Janet Tuer (my mom).

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ANDY WEIR built a career as a software engineer until the success of his debut novel, The Martian, allowed him to pursue writing full-time. He is a lifelong space nerd and a devoted hobbyist of subjects such as relativistic physics, orbital mechanics, and the history of manned spaceflight. He lives in California.

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