by V. S. Holmes
“Cut out early.” Lin rapped her knuckles on the bar. “In the movies this means I want a drink. That true?”
Nel laughed. “It was, at one point. Never been to India in the 2020s before, though, so my social cues are probably a bit antiquated.” Playing roles was a relief, even if contrived. Bartender she could be. The rest of the world was too confusing for her to have the energy to try to figure out who she was on top of everything else. She gestured to the array of bottles behind her. “What’ll it be, ma’am?”
“You don’t remember my drink order?” The hurt in Lin’s eyes was feigned. At least, I think it is. Mostly.
“Scotch. Rocks. Expensive. Well, as expensive as Jerod’s bar got.” She glanced at the options and whistled. “They got Macallan 18. ’Bout as fancy as it gets down here.” She grabbed a dusty glass and tested the bar sink, surprised when bright clear water splashed across the stainless steel. “Should I warn you about Earth’s gravity or altitude and the potency of alcohol?”
“I think I’ll be fine,” Lin assured. “You forget we abuse our chemicals as much as you. We just prefer to use ports.”
Nel shook her head. “IV drug use was never my thing, despite being part of the DARE generation.”
“Dare to what?”
“Never mind. Just some anti-drug propaganda that backfired pretty hard.” She splashed scotch into the glass and slid it across the bar. “Fridge is out. So here’s your scotch on the rocks without the rocks.”
“I don’t mind.” Lin grinned. “You look better. Happier, I mean.”
Nel took a slow pull of her tequila, rolling it around her mouth before swallowing to answer. “Harris took me to the roof. Fresh air does wonders after a few years. And I’m glad I’ve a few allies—or whatever the fuck he is.”
“I think allies is right. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you more. I’m still on probation and I figured it was safer having one of us here than rocking the boat and risking neither of us being included.” Lin’s jaw worked. “That doesn’t make it easier, huh?”
“It just is starting to feel like it’s on purpose, is all. The excluding.”
“I mean, it’s on purpose because it’s not your job, you know? You don’t get mad at being excluded from Odyssey’s waste recycling meetings.”
“The fate of my planet is a little different than space shit, Lin. I know I didn’t make Dean’s List at Space U, but c’mon, I’ve got a lot of insight to offer. If only because I’m from here, you know?”
Lin took her hand, eyes still refusing to meet Nel’s. “I know, babe, but it’s not me you have to convince.”
“Dr. Ndebele? I’ll be lucky if she thinks I have two brain cells to rub together.” She scowled at Lin’s patronizing sympathetic look but drew a long breath. “I’m sorry, too. Just edgy. And sick of not sleeping. You’d think I’d have gotten enough in cryo. Does that count as rest?”
“Depends on your definition.”
Who was supposed to apologize first? Usually in these situations it was always Nel who had done wrong, whether it was not calling someone she should or kissing someone she shouldn’t. This time she wasn’t sure. Catching the shuttered look in her girlfriend’s eyes, Nel scrambled for common ground. “So, what do you like about scotch?”
“First drink I learned to order.”
Nel’s brows rose. “Those are some pricey training wheels there.”
“Pricey is a bit of a different game with IDH.” She swirled the drink gently on the bar, watching the red liquid splash gently. It was a practiced gesture, one Nel recognized from a hundred pop culture broody scenes. Was there anything Lin did that wasn’t meticulously curated and rehearsed?
“Where’d you have your first drink, Tatooine?” Nel prompted. Lin seemed to be in the telling mood and she wasn’t about to waste the chance. That attraction or self-preservation speaking?
A giggle erupted from Lin’s full lips. “This isn’t Star Wars.”
Nel snorted. “I told you at the beginning I hate all this sci-fi shit. Give me a normal dark comedy or thriller any day. Preferably with Gillian Anderson.”
“I don’t know who that is—”
“Sure you do—Scully. X-Files.”
“Oh, yes. I liked her. I wanted to be like her.”
“I wanted to do something else with her, but yeah.” Silence swelled between them and Nel made a show of wiping dust from the bar top.
“Mugdha 3. Mining outpost on an asteroid. I was seventeen circadial. Dar was a few years older, can’t remember. He’d persuaded our parents to let me tag along with him for some transit mission. He was already clawing his way up the ladder and I wanted to see the mines. They’re really neat and isolated. I already knew I wanted to study our origins, and I felt like the isolation of the mining outposts might help me understand our ancestors a bit more.”
“Did it?”
“I spent most of the trip drinking with two of the mine-rats my age. We drank scotch on the rocks—though there it was actual rocks, chilled in the vacuum of space. Can’t be wasting water on drink ice. We got drunk every night and went space walking.”
“That sounds horrifyingly dangerous.”
“It was. But fun. Spinning out there in the nothing while your brain was on fire. I swear I could have seen God if I looked hard enough.”
“Yours is way better than mine. I was fourteen and this girl and I were hanging out. We went to middle school together, but we hated each other then. Few years later she watched one of my softball practices. After she asked if I wanted to take a walk. Spent almost every night together that summer, drinking cheap spiced rum and Smirnoff Ice by the swamp behind the school. Drank enough that we didn’t care about the mosquitos. She told me what she’d do when she became a famous musician—she was in her church choir—and I told her I was going to find a famous archaeological site. The next pyramids.”
“Did you date?”
Nel shook her head. “It was more like a love affair. Secret and torrid and finite. Her parents decided I was the bad influence for making her gay—not her, for getting me into booze. Went to a different school that year and never heard from her again. Kept drinking though,” she laughed. “Did you get in trouble for the drunken EVA?”
Lin shook her head. “No one cares about mine-rats. My parents were influential enough at the time that no one said anything to me and Dar was wrapped around this guy.” She paused, a faint smile fading slightly. “It’s when he met Paul. I thought it was pathetic at the time, his devotion to this dude who he’d only just met.”
Nel frowned at their hands, both resting on the polished bar, inches from one another yet seemingly lightyears distant. She knew she was supposed to ask Lin if she still felt that way, ask if she saw parallels in their own relationship. Does that mean one of us is going to die? She shook away the shiver of premonition. “Guess sometimes it’s just like that. Can’t help when someone gets under our skin.”
ONE
“Bently, if you’re lying, I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Bossin muttered.
Nel’s eyes narrowed as she slid another bean across the dining car table. “Me, lie?”
“I think it’s on him, frankly,” Jem remarked. “Your brow’s been twitching for the last minute and your eyes are about as wide as the hangar bay.”
“Ouch.”
The medic grinned. “Your poker face could use some work, Dr. Bently.”
The car shuddered, crossing onto the steel lacework of the bridge to the mainland. Outside sullen clouds cloaked the late evening sky, and the city beyond was just a haze of backlit fog. “Nel, please. And yeah, I’m not sure what part of the walking angry lesbian stereotype you thought would make me a good card player.”
Bossin howled and tossed two beans in. “With that endorsement…”
“What’re you doing?” A slight woman with cropped, tousled blonde hair paused beside them, tech-covered hand resting on the tabletop.
Nel tuc
ked her hand against her chest and glanced up, trying to recall the woman’s name from the gala.
“Hey, Teera,” Jem welcomed, “I can deal you in, once Bently loses her last dime.”
Teera’s brow rose playfully as she regarded the pile of thumb-sized beans. “Those aren’t dimes.”
Nel chuckled. “None of us have actual cash so we raided Bossin’s mancala pieces. And 2100 is no time to teach us pathetic white folks a new game.”
“Well, once we hit Egypt we can try to teach you,” Nori offered. “Call.”
Nel pulled a face and showed the cards in her hand. “Next time listen to Jem.”
Bossin groaned, arm shielding his eyes and his apparently overwhelming shame. “My mother is tossing in her grave.”
“Your mother is alive and still running Kossa-2, if I recall,” Jem reminded. “But she might wish she weren’t if she gets wind of your terrible gambling skills. You sure you don’t want to join?”
Teera shook her head. “I’m actually here to collect your best player.” Her eyes flicked to Nel. “Tech check, Dr. Bently.”
“Oh, shit!” Bently glanced at her comm and scrambled to her feet. “I totally forgot about that, sorry.”
“No worries, I needed to stretch my legs,” Teera reassured. “Shouldn’t take too long.”
Nel fell into step behind her. They crossed through the bobbing double doors joining the chain of dining cars and Nel paused, lifting her face to the balmy, moist night air. It smelled of oiled metal and impending rain.
Terra was smiling when she glanced back from the office car entry. “You been before?”
Nel shook her head, ducking in behind the tech. “No, just enjoying my home atmosphere.”
They stepped into the first sleeping car. Each tiny unit had been remodeled into a makeshift office. Teera’s in particular was now filled with holographic screens and ropes of wires. Unlike Gretta’s, however, it was tidy, each bundle labeled and tucked into the corners. “You can have the seat.”
Nel settled into the chair, extending her left arm when the tech gestured for it. “This just routine?”
“For now, unfortunately. Most of the others had their setup checked before departure from Odyssey, but due to your last-minute transfer, we didn’t have time until now. This shouldn’t take more than a minute.” Her hands were gentle, if cold, and she slipped a tiny probe into a port in the wrist comm. “How’d you find the spaceport?”
“Strange. Shiny and old at once. Pavement looked new.”
“I imagine it was hardly used before the blackout. Built on hopes.”
“Typical of IDH, to build something no one wants.”
“Don’t feel like they’re the most useful organization?” Teera asked. Her pupils shrank in her pale eyes as the data from Nel’s comm projected directly into her optic nerve.
What would it look like if that wetware malfunctioned? The invasive thought sent a shudder through Nel’s body. “I guess I’m just slow to adjust.”
“That diplomacy must have taken a lot of work.” Teera spun a tiny dial. “Alright, here’s the deal: usually, your computer interface and your comm are paired. That’s not the case for this mission. All communications will be scanned and viewed by both bots and myself. If you don’t want me to see it, then don’t send it. Consider this your only warning.”
“Try my best,” Nel promised. Decades of careful curation of her university email—especially as a visibly queer adult—had taught her the importance of professional email etiquette long before IDH meant anything more than who signed her grants. “So without Wi-Fi and all that, how are we communicating with the space stations or Odyssey?”
“Oh, you mean your pet project with Philos?”
Nel’s cheeks flushed. “I was just helping him access the data he needed.”
Teera raised her hands in defense. “Hey, I don’t care. We need all hands on deck for this one, and IDH is just being precious about who they invite into their club. Everyone still has access to the main databases—though any updates will be slow to appear. Our missives, messages and any database updates are delivered at midday. Of course, I have bots scanning everyone’s search history and messages 29/6—wait, 24/7 down here. Regardless, you chatting with a CPO doesn’t concern me. Files that aren’t audio, that don’t mention Samsara, or what’s going on here? I’d hardly notice them. We’re going through all your messages, but it only gets flagged for Harris or Dr. Ndebele if I say it should.” Even through the cheery blue-green light projected on her irises, her stare was glacial. “Philos knows that.”
Weight settled on Nel’s shoulders, the certainty that once again, she was being let in on some secret that she didn’t have the bandwidth or background to appreciate. “Right. So I can poke around and research all I want as long as I’m not messing with the mission proper.”
“Essentially.” Teera’s attention returned to the digital bowels of Nel’s communicator. “No visual disabilities, correct?”
Nel shook her head. “Would that be a problem?”
Teera’s focus faltered. “No. We’d just install audioblocks for close-circuit screen reading and so forth. Is there something not in your chart?”
“Just a whole lot of skepticism and some too recent memories.”
“I think the former might actually be in your chart.” The light flickering over her eye brightened and she frowned. “It appears your comm audio is already disabled.”
“Maybe left over from Samsara.”
Teera was silent for a moment. The projected light disappeared from her eyes and they were abruptly staring into Nel’s. “I don’t know what happened down there—I imagine even you don’t, despite watching it fall away beneath you.”
“I haven’t really made sense of anything in the past two years,” Nel confessed.
Teera sat back and unplugged her equipment from Nel’s wrist. “Let me know if you encounter any issues with the firewalls. They’re tricky on a good day, and this level of security is a bit unprecedented on such a massive scale.”
“Will do.” Nel stood, brushing imaginary soil from her electrosuit before offering her hand. “Thanks for the help.”
“Dr. Bently?” Teera’s voice stopped Nel on the threshold of the sliding door. “I didn’t know Gretta well. Few did, really. But I saw that data. Tasked with double-checking her work. And it wasn’t in your head. I don’t know what it was or why it only affected you and Dr. de Lellis, but we’re going to find the answer.”
The words did little to erase Nel’s apprehension, though she appreciated the effort. “I just wish stopping it didn’t require us to know what the fuck it was in the first place.”
“You and me both. Cheers.”
After a cursory glance back down the dining car, Nel retreated to the narrow sliver of privacy that she and Lin would share for the next few weeks. No sooner had the door locked behind her than she was discarding her electrosuit for the familiar press of musty A-shirt cotton and a set of cargo shorts. She hesitated when her fingers brushed the heavy bolo, more a pendant than tie, but she left it on.
Like the bite of exhaust in summer air and the sting of cold as her drafty house strained against the New England winters, these clothes scratched life into her skin. Coarse. Worn. Wrinkled from a few years rolled in her personal effects. But hers.
When Nel returned to the dining car, Jem flashed an understanding grin. “Nice threads.”
Nel snorted. “I figured there’s no point in pretending I’m something I’m not if IDH won’t play along.” It was a tough-guy version of her real feelings, but at least the medic wasn’t about to call her on it. She settled back into her seat, waving away the offer to deal her back in.
“Letnan Nalawangsa stopped by a second ago,” Jem informed. Their gaze didn’t move from the cards tucked in their hand.
“She say anything?”
“Just her usual snippy self,” Bossin muttered.
Jem snorted, but the
sound was more humorous than derisive. “I imagine her fam wants everything wrapped up in a tidy bow before the year’s Revelations.”
Revelations?
“C’mon, those bluebloods ain’t giving a damn what’s going on with us dirtwalkers. She’s probably just pissed because we can’t get purified stim down here to power her waltz to the top of IDH’s science division. I don’t think she’s left Dr. Ndebele’s side in—”
“Look, we’re all stressed about this,” Nel interjected, confusion warring with her desire for inclusion. “I know they haven’t had it rough as some of us, but I think she’s trying.”
Nori’s eyes leveled on Nel. “Figured you’d have nothing but flattery for them. Might wanna wipe your mouth, got some shit stains there from kissing—”
“Fuck off!” Nel’s temper flared, hot as the flush on her face. Tearing paper cut the conversation as Nel tried to tug the cards from her hands. Colored paper fluttered to the scratched Formica between them.
Jem’s hand settled on Nel’s wrist. “Hey, Bently, not worth it.”
Seizing the olive branch, Nel gave them a grateful smile.
Jem held up their hands in warning. “Look, I agree with her, maybe with fewer expletives. I just don’t like arguing like, ever. I grew up in a huge family and I’m not about the drama.”
Nel looked away. I honestly don’t know anything about Lin. It hadn’t bothered her in Chile, when Lin was just grief sex and a solution to sticky politics. She hadn’t dared to question it when Lin seemed to be her only ally as she hiked across the New England powerline corridors. She had been too grateful for a familiar face on Odyssey to bring it up. Now, though, you’re on my turf.
A blue collar upbringing lent Nel enough understanding of the working class to not trust anyone with big money and bigger influence, but enough privilege to navigate that world without seeming too misplaced. Jem and Nori and Teera were people she should have had more in common with. More than she did with Lin, at least. I wish I didn’t have to keep picking sides.
