In this quiet and relatively bump-free region of space, Ariadne and I also took the time to inventory the Lilstar’s supplies. We’d gone through most of the foodstuffs and would undoubtedly need a refill before we returned to Earth. Especially if we were carrying an extra passenger like Ottoman Lee. I still hadn’t quite figured out how we were going to go about traveling with an extra passenger in a two-person ship. I supposed we could just stash Ottoman on one of the bunks, establishing regular shifts to enable us to keep an eye on both him and pilot the ship.
Of course, I was no pilot, so Ariadne would need to be awakened in the event of an emergency anyway. If only the Lilstar had one extra bunk and the pantry space to match. Plus I still spent most of my days curled up trying not to let the turbulence on the outside of the ship reach my innards. I had grown to hate ionized hydrogen pockets as much as the Lilstar did. I think the ship was even sympathizing with me; my showers were always nice and warm.
Thankfully, Myrkheim at this time of decade was in a pocket of nothing. Pure, sweet space without the burden of brightly colored ions. Most of the time, ships used the asteroid station as a way to readjust their ships for travel outside the nebula. Proxima Centauri was more often than not outside the nebula our systems shared, but on occasion, its orbit carried it along the edge of the gases. This was called the Tepid Corridor, a rare moment when ships get to travel in open space back and forth between Earth and our far trade partners at more impressive speeds than normal. Haunting and beautiful as the omnipresent cloud could be, the nebula made space travel little faster than slogging through waist-deep and corrosive mud while wearing a pair of wool jodhpurs. The Centauri learned a while back that their metal-based ships did little good inside the nebula, wearing out more quickly than they should due to a bad reaction between their favorite metallic alloys and the nebula’s highly-charged ions. This presented an excellent source of trade for our two peoples. They had the metallic ground-based transports we needed, and we had the organic, spacefaring ships they needed.
Myrkheim itself was a smash colony embedded along the inside of the asteroid. Once the massive organic structure had reached maturity, it was flung at high speeds utilizing gravity toward the face of an asteroid, embedding itself deep into the craterous surface with eight long, vise-like pincers. These were reinforced by a rhizoid system, similar to that used by mosses on Earth, that would grow into the crater over time. This kept the colony from flailing around whenever the asteroid got hit by another and began to tumble end over end - although that was a rare and predicted occurrence, monitored closely by any company with a stake in Myrkheim’s importance, which was mostly the U.C.
The colony was positively hopping by the time we reached it. Ships of all kinds, companies, and people were milling about its space. We almost ran into a few by accident and I could have sworn the Lilstar tried to go check out the cute little United-Consortium runabout that flew by at a leisurely pace. It took nearly a full day to finally reach a parking spot and after we finally had it, I knew we wouldn’t leave Myrkheim unless it was an absolute and utter emergency.
Or we caught Ottoman.
Much unlike Meropis-C, Myrkheim avoided the omnipresent legislature and personal “welcome to the station” top-to-bottom contraband search. For that I was immensely thankful, although I surmised that it was probably because, if Myrkheim officials harassed every visitor to the colony, they wouldn’t have time for any other duty. Ariadne and I stepped off the Lilstar without so much as a glance from the security guards patrolling the airlocks.
It took a good half-hour of walking to actually reach the main portion of the colony. The important thing to know about Mykheim was the fact that it was a real, honest-to-goodness city. It was not small or windowless like most of the stations in their various orbits around the solar system, and not cramped and crowded like the massive starliners that the U.C. is always boasting about. This was a trading post, a refueling stop, and most importantly, an entirely other world with its own unique culture and ecosystem. It was expensive to run but invaluable to this part of the human universe. It was a place nearly half a million souls called home and it was where Ariadne and I had to find our quarry.
Thankfully even with its size, Myrkheim made it easy to reach the center. Ariadne gasped a little as we finally rounded the corner.
The massive windows stood to the right-hand side if you were coming from the civilian docking sector. Almost a mile tall, they afforded the best view of starry space any Terran not wanting to leave the nebula could ask for. Held in place by the kindness of the Centauri who provided carbon-glass implants, the translucent epidermis that the colony produced naturally stretched upward. Of course, they still had to cover the windows with thicker epidermis whenever there was the threat of meteors or attack. It had been decades since they’d had to resort to that, however. Peace had been well-earned in this corner of the solar system.
The windows made for an impressive sight, sitting directly across from the living core of the colony. Myrkheim was a lot like a fox hunting in the snow, burrowing its specially-designed nose deep into the rock. The asteroid-side of the colony had nearly two hundred shelves of smaller organic buildings and walkways lining the walls. These shelves were at least twenty feet apart but each one, as a visitor moved upward was significantly smaller than the next, meaning that there was plenty of headspace on the lower levels. Once you’d reached the middle —— the narrowest shelves from the back wall —— the shelves began to expand once again until you reached the uppermost level. These top layers were mostly maintenance and miniature factories, along with a few important colony municipal centers. It was really the middle that held the most affluence.
“Ahhh…” Ariadne almost cooed, taking a deep breath of the colony’s air. Unlike Meropis-C or any other station, the wheat smell had been completely replaced by a cacophony of a million other scents. Most were food-related as this lowest level we walked on was filled with shops and restaurants. There was even a Centauri bar where customers had to put on special breathing apparatuses to enter its argon-rich atmosphere. I’ve heard the food was good as the Centauri had several dishes on the menu that were blends of their own ethnic delicacies and human favorites.
Not that I ever had the credits to afford that kind of food.
Ariadne and I strode down the nearly-mile-long front boulevard for a while, simply taking in the enormity of what was of what surrounded us. The pseudo-gravity plating that overruled the asteroid’s natural but meager gravitational field and kept the colony’s patrons upright and perpendicular to the true center seemed to be turned down just a little. I felt bouncier than I had in the Lilstar and I vaguely began to wonder who had not adjusted the pseudo-gravity to normal. It wasn’t as though a proper up and down existed in space.
“Well,” Ariadne said, taking another deep breath. She already seemed to be truly enjoying herself and I envied her enthusiasm. I found it hard to be cheery with the prospect of searching the whole, freaking city for the only person who could secure our futures as skiptraces. “What do we do next?”
“I think we deserve a decent meal, no more space rations,” I suggested. “Then and only then will we stop by the Transportation Agency and see if anyone has shown up on the station as Ottoman Lee.”
“You don’t hit the ground running, do you?” The princess cocked her head to one side almost mischievously.
“Oh no, we need to eat something that hasn’t been overly processed,” I said in an emphatic tone. “I mean, I don’t mind sautéed canned meat but after a few weeks something fresher is just what I need. Besides, finding a restaurant will give us the lay of the land.”
“Alright,” Ariadne nodded understandingly. “Let me go find a bank; we need real credits.”
I nodded and strode toward a massive directory. I flipped the pages until it listed all the banks on the colony.
“There’s one just over there,” I pointed toward the United-Consortium Credit & Debit Exchequer.
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p; “Mmm, no, I need a different branch,” Ariadne said, looking over the directory in confusion.
“Like, U.C. Galaxy Bank? Bank of the Consortium? United Trust?” I kept suggesting, hoping one or more of those would strike her fancy.
“Do you only bank at U.C. banks?” the princess asked with puckered eyebrows.
“Only when I’m on a U.C. monopolized smash colony,” I commented.
“Monopolized…?” Ariadne asked, looking like she’d just lost her appetite.
I nodded my head slowly.
“They bought this whole place about fifty years ago, so they control everything that is in here.”
“Ahhhh…” the princess moaned loudly, setting her face on the directory.
“We have no money,” I said plainly.
“Oh no,” Ariadne said with a wry sort of laugh. “We have plenty of money. What we don’t have is access to it.”
“Can’t your bank transfer to a U.C. owned bank?” I asked hopefully.
“Nope. That’s why I bank there, no U.C. connections, no U.C. legislation,” Ariadne said.
I perfectly understood her position. I would have kept my money in an independent bank had I known they existed. And had I had the money to actually put in a bank. The problem with U.C. is that they had unfettered rule over the entire human economy, meaning that they could rob you blind without any sort of government to stop them. Not that governments really had any real influence or jurisdiction any more. Law was a matter of perspective and mostly upheld by independent police forces and a healthy body of skiptraces. The U.C. was as close to godlike as any corporation had achieved to date; it basically controlled every aspect of your life whether or not you wanted it to.
I rubbed my face, hoping money would suddenly fall from my hands. Instead, my stomach growled and I grew nauseated thinking about canned meat.
And being stranded on a massive colony, flat broke.
Ariadne handled the situation little differently, looking through her pockets as if they would suddenly produce money. She finally raised her hand triumphantly. “Yay. A button. It doesn’t even match my coat.”
I had to sit down at that point. At least the ground was warm. This close to the epidermis floor, I could almost smell warmed-over wheat.
“I really didn’t want to die here,” the princess said, sitting down beside me.
“Me neither,” I muttered. I should have left that skiptrace to the proper authorities, spent my inheritance on a nice apartment, and gotten a job at that biologic construction company that had an office just down the street from my childhood home. I probably knew just as much about organic structures and how to grow them as their favorite organic engineers. I mean, what kind of adventure would that be, but sometimes doing good work is just as good as slaying dragons. Besides, I probably would have a cold cellar filled with delicious food.
I’m not certain how long we’d sat there, underneath the directory, waiting for some miracle to happen. We probably looked like neatly-dressed hobos, lurking in the street. I sighed loudly, watching the people duck in and out of restaurants and shops. Spending money. Money I didn’t have.
I could get used to this colony, with all of its unhurried bustle and movement. I wasn’t fond of crowds, but I still liked people and wondering who they were and where they came from. My brother used to take me to a park not far from our house between his shifts and my school. It was filled with good old trees and grasses; unlike the mosses that coated rooftops and sidewalks, this was real grass. He would then tell me all about the people he had seen that day. Not going into the gruesomeness of their injuries or the illnesses he’d had to treat, of course, just who they were. The mother who held her small son’s hand, the old man who sang opera to an emergency room full of sick and injured people, and the young woman with gang tattoos who gave up her seat for a limping man. The stories weren’t always so sanitized or kind. Sometimes my brother would straight up tell me just how messed up humanity could be, or sometimes I could just infer it.
So I grew up people-watching. Trying to figure out what kind of life they’d led and why they were where they were. That man, for example, with the ridiculous looking leather vest. Where did he get that wicked scar across his arm? And was the vest a fashion choice or did he just not care? What about that old couple over there in their matching cardigans and shoes? Did they have a destination in mind or were they just out for a stroll? They seemed content, whichever option they had chosen, and I smiled a little. Maybe one day I’d grow old with some guy.
Of course, that would be very unlikely if I starved to death here on this colony.
I decided to continue my people-watching for just a while longer, trying to gauge exactly how this colony breathed, so to speak. Given the fact it was the dayshift, the people walking about were made up mostly of people who didn’t feel safe at night; young women without a group, the rich, older people, families. I wondered what kind of rabble rousers plagued this colony during the night, if any did. I doubted places like Meropis-C had any trouble with nightcrawlers and bar-hopping noise makers, but this colony was much more like a city than a true station. It would be a lot more difficult to corral the highly varied inhabitants of Myrkheim.
A lost-looking young woman suddenly veered toward the directory Ariadne and I were sitting beneath. She looked business-y, but approachable, giving both the princess and I somewhat odd looks. I gave her a wry sort of smile, trying to not come across as someone really strange, sitting in the middle of a public place, staring at random people.
Let’s face it, I was set up for failure on the not-a-creep count.
To continue down this looks-like-a-creep-but-isn’t path, I decided to try something desperate.
“Would you like a button?” I asked the lady. Her face contorted into a nervous sort of expression with pinched eyebrows and an uncertain smile.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“We’re trapped on this colony with only a button that doesn’t match either of our jackets. I was wondering if you’d like it in trade,” I said very plainly, gesturing for Ariadne to present the button. Her expression was less nervous than the lady’s but still confused. She complied, however, presenting the shiny and somewhat plain bluish button.
The lady looked at Ariadne and I in turn before picking up the button and inspecting it.
“It might make a nice replacement for my other suit…” she murmured, then looked apologetic. “I really didn’t bring any loose money with me.”
“I don’t mean money,” I explained, standing up. “I’ll take anything of somewhat equal value to this button.”
“Well,” the lady quickly searched her pockets. “I have this single glove. I lost the other one somewhere on this level and I can’t find it. It’s a nice glove, just not very useful without the other.”
“Sold,” Ariadne said, taking the brown glove in her hands. It did look very nice and decently warm. “I know the brand; it’ll still be worth something even as a single.”
“Alright.” The lady’s smile was still tinged with some confusion, but she shook on the deal and Ariadne and I were now in possession of a singular but warm glove.
“Brilliant plan,” the princess commented after the bewildered lady had left. She shoved the glove on to her hand and waved it at me.
“Oh, it’s about to get much better,” I said, and gave Ariadne the biggest, cheesiest grin I could. “Let’s see if we can find a home for this.”
As it turned out, it is much more difficult to peddle a single glove than it is a button, though the glove was undoubtedly much nicer than said button. Even with as cold as it was on this front strip, no one seemed interested in taking us up on our offer. Soon, Ariadne and I were back at the Lilstar, half-gloved and hungry, but not for space rations.
“Tell me again why I decided to be a skiptrace with your sorry—” — Ariadne started. Before she could finish, I yanked the glove out of her hand, hoping that maybe its mere presence would inspire a brilliant idea in me.
It didn’t. It was brown, soft, and insulated but not inspiring in any sort of fashion.
“Our problem is, most of the population doesn’t want a single glove. There has to be someone, however, weird enough to just want one glove,” I said aloud, opening myself up for some commentary on my ability to state the obvious but also hoping for the triggering of a brilliant idea out of either of us.
Turns out, it was Ariadne’s turn to be brilliant. Without a word, she leaped from her seat and snatched the glove back, disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a pair of scissors. She sat back down, carefully snipping off the tip of each finger and a large swatch out of the palm.
“Ah, good. You’re butchering our only real bargaining chip besides this sludge bucket you call a—” — I said. Ariadne put the now-fingerless glove on and shoved a bare, disapproving finger in my face.
“I encourage you to stop what you are saying and revel in my brilliance before I have to forcibly remove you from my SHIP.” Her gaze never wavered.
“I don’t get it,” I finally had to say. Even upon an up-close inspection of her new creation, I didn’t see how it would help us.
“What sort of rock did you grow up under?” the princess wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “This is no longer a single glove: it’s a fashion piece, and I know just the demographic who eats this kind of thing up.”
“Those music-hating punk types?” I filled in the blank. Of course I was familiar with the movement, I’d just never crossed paths with one of them long enough to know the fashion trends.
Set'em Up Page 8
