Alien Earth

The doors slid open abruptly, and Connie emerged into the already-familiar corridors of Evangeline’s gondola. Pastel corridors, much smaller than any on Delta Station, radiated out from the embarkment lobby. She stepped out of the tube, held the door open for John.

He didn’t move.

“Aren’t you boarding now?”

“No. I still have a few things I want to get done before we leave. That’s only seven hours from now. I want you to get down to cargo level and supervise some specialized equipment we’ll be loading. Make sure they stow it the way I showed you. And bring our basic supplies up to twice standard. I want a wide margin for error on this trip.” He was suddenly the captain again.

“Yes, sir,” she found herself saying. His eyes met hers once, and she was puzzled by their opacity. She tried to find the honesty she had earlier glimpsed there. “About what I did for Tug …”

He stared past her, eyes cold, into the empty corridors of the ship. “That subject is closed,” he told her flatly. And there was no mistaking the command when he added, “We won’t be speaking of it again.”

She let go of the door and it hissed shut behind her. She took a deep and sudden breath, and realized she was shaking. She’d done it. She was home safe, back to the ship with her illegal tapes for Tug. Despite all John’s seriousness and warnings, a wicked excitement raced through her. For the first time since her Readjustment, she felt a savage little thrill of personal triumph. They didn’t fix me, she thought to herself. They didn’t get all of it. And then wondered why the thought brought her such gladness.

As the lift descended, John leaned his forehead against the transparency of the wall and tried to find some shred of calmness or complacency within himself. But as he looked out over the clockwork busyness of the multilevel port around him, he could only grasp that the coolness of the wall felt good against his sweaty forehead. Forty-eight hours ago, he’d been in the warmth and peace of a Waitsleep womb and all had been right with his world. Now it was crumbling around him, and he was helpless to stop it.

His “lunch” with Deckenson had been followed by a briefing at Earth Affirmed offices that had only left him more sure of how untenable his position was. Their instructions had been precise to the point of insulting; they’d had no doubt that he’d obey, that they owned him. He’d walked away from it feeling both numb and shaky, and convinced that nothing much worse could happen to him.

Only to arrive in time to spot his crew engaging in a felony at the behest of the ship’s owner. He’d had a brief but alarmingly detailed vision of the consequences of Connie getting caught; the port investigation that would turn up not only his own collection and the fact that half of the ship’s library space was devoted to contraband, but also dig into his recent dealings with Earth Affirmed. Some of the cargo they’d be loading into the Evangeline would be distinctively unusual. None of his recent doings could bear a sniff of inquiry, let alone a full-fledged investigation. And so he’d acted, extricating Connie as best he could. Only now did he wonder if it had been the wisest thing to do, or if he had just given another person a handle on him.

He became aware of the tube lift’s transparency and straightened himself, trying to resume a little professional decorum. And what now? Caution dictated he avoid his rendezvous to pick up Ginger’s wares, that he cancel his meeting with Andrew as well.

Caution hadn’t worked too well for him lately.

Besides, how could it get worse?

He nearly changed his mind when he found that the package left for him to claim at a port pawnbroker contained not only his requested volumes, but a “complimentary” copy of Shaw’s Androcles and the Lion. It was the only one in button rather than Ginger’s standard tube format, yet the package had shown no signs of tampering. In a waste recycler stall he transferred his purchases and the gift to the lining of his collar, save for Crime and Punishment, which fit neatly into his left cuff. The packaging went down the waste recycler.

He tried not to think about it as he walked to his meeting with Andrew. Had someone from Earth Affirmed added Crime and Punishment to the package? They’d known the drop off point. Or had they their own ways of contacting Ginger, and having it added? Would Ginger consider him a poor risk now? Was Ginger allied with Earth Affirmed? Was Ginger a part of Earth Affirmed? Did Ginger exist as anything other than a name? After this contract, would any of it matter to him anyway? He batted the questions away irritably and tried to walk briskly, but was fifteen minutes late meeting Andrew.

Andrew straightened from where he’d been leaning against a corridor bench to shake John’s hand. The only sign of his receiving the recording was a slight widening of his grin. But a few years John’s junior, his substantially smaller body and cheerful face made him appear generations younger. The first time they’d met, he’d insisted he remembered John from an Academy prep class, and John had never discouraged his delusion. Andrew was one of the few people John bothered to maintain contact with. His boyish enthusiasm and openness had always been a marked contrast to John’s notoriously somber moods. Usually John found his company and easy conversation relaxing. Today Andrew’s cheeriness was like a mockery to John’s problems. “No luck getting Norwich back?” Andrew guessed shrewdly.

John gave him a black look and Andrew held up a conciliatory palm. “We won’t talk about it yet. I’ve found the only place on this station that still has decent stim. Come on. I’m buying.”

“Damn right you are,” John informed him sourly, but let Andrew take his arm companionably.

Andrew’s stim shop was in the port district, and largely frequented by the maritime trade. All aspects of the port were represented, from longshoremen to oilers to other Beastship personnel, with a corresponding spectrum of sizes and ages. The fixtures ranged widely in styles and sizes to accommodate the varying trade. John sank gratefully into a proper sized chair. Two cups of stim and the familiar surroundings let some of the tension out of him. Andrew’s casual gossip of doings on the Trotter and the other short-run Beastships needed no more than a grunt and a nod in reply. He only realized how wandering his thoughts had been when a mixed platter of fresh greens and fruits was set before him. He glanced up at Andrew in confusion. Andrew’s dark eyes were frankly amused.

“The waiter asked you twice what you’d like. I ordered it for you, the second time you didn’t hear him.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve a lot on my mind.”

“No contract yet?”

“Actually, that’s not the problem. I’ve got a client.”

“Good one?”

John shrugged. He didn’t want to get into it.

“Then what’s the problem?”

John hesitated, wondering how much, if anything, he wanted to tell Andrew. But Andrew’s own face darkened and he set his cup down with a thump. “It’s Connie, isn’t it? Damn, John, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I swear I didn’t know when I recommended her.”

“So you’ve said,” John answered, content to let the conversation wander down this channel for a while.

“So. What’s she done?” Andrew leaned forward, ready for a choice story.

“Exactly what she’s told, and no more,” John informed him grimly. He reflected it wasn’t exactly a lie. Tug had undoubtedly sent her out on her latest ill-advised errand.

Andrew looked confused. “So?”

“So tell me what the rumor was?”

Andrew looked acutely uncomfortable. “It was only a rumor, John. I heard it from Luis, and you know what he’s like. I wouldn’t give it much credit, except …” Andrew hesitated.

“Spill it,” John advised him. He took a thin slice of taro root from the plate, seasoned it, and crunched into it.

“Well, you know how she’s always muttering to herself?”

John didn’t, but he nodded to let Andrew continue.

“Well, Luis says that when a person has had really intensive Readjustment, they do that. It’s part of the hypnotherapy. They give the person set dialogues that kick in to relieve stress, you know, built-in pep talks from the subconscious.”

“I’ve heard of it,” John admitted.

“Yeah, well, Luis said he overheard enough to know it wasn’t the standard stuff. He had the bunk right above hers; you know we don’t get separate awake quarters like you’ve got on the Evangeline. He said it sounded to him like she’d been involved in, uh, some kind of violence. Something bloody. And after Connie left the Trotter, and Luis got more open about talking about it, Trey said she’d used to live in the same building as Connie, back when she was a shoresider. She’s not positive it was Connie, because she didn’t really know her then, but someone got taken out of the building one afternoon by emergency personnel. It wasn’t the kind of thing to be too curious about, but Trey said there was a lot of blood on whoever they took out, and the room was a mess with it.”

Andrew paused breathlessly, waiting for John’s reaction. John didn’t have one to give him. Instead he sat silently, thinking of how Connie clasped stillness and disappeared herself into it. He tried to picture her in violent motion, energetic, engaged in some passionate act. He couldn’t. Then he tried to picture her as the recipient of violence, as the stunned victim of some unadjusted person’s wrath. He winced. He said softly, “Don’t they do a Readjustment sometimes on a person who’s been badly hurt? You know, traumatized by violence?”

John watched Andrew absorb the idea, saw the flickering of emotion over his boyish face. “Damn,” he said softly. “I’ll bet.” After a moment he asked, “You going to keep her on?”

John took another bite of taro root, to give the appearance of considering the question. In reality, he didn’t have time to do anything about Connie except keep her. Hiring a new crewman would take time. Time spent in port was time vulnerable to the Conservancy; and Earth Affirmed had stressed that a speedy departure was essential. He had no choice but to keep her. No damn choice about anything anymore.

“I’ll just have to be careful of her,” he said, and only when Andrew nodded did he realize he’d spoken aloud.

“Just don’t put much pressure on her, and she’ll probably do fine. She did okay on the Trotter. And the Evangeline is a lot quieter than the Trotter. Less stress. She’ll do fine.”

“Probably,” John agreed glumly, thinking of Tug and their present mission. Less stress. Sure. He took a sip of stim, watching Andrew over the rim of his mug. “Ever think about getting off?” he asked seriously.

“What?”

“You know. Get off the Beast. Retrain. Get a real job, a real life, one that goes day to day, where you have neighbors and friends….”

Andrew shifted uncomfortably. “No,” he said shortly.

“Why not?” John asked.

“Are you serious?” And when John nodded, Andrew frowned. “Because, as frustrating as it all is, it’s still as close as I’m ever going to get to the real thing. The old dream, you know, the freedom of the stars. I doubt any man will ever really ‘captain’ a Beastship, or any other interstellar ship. The ancient technology that we once thought would get us to the stars: it was too messy, too inefficient. Too damn slow. And even it’s been lost. The Arthroplana have it all sewed up. Beastships are the only practical method of interstellar travel. And whatever they are, neither you nor I are equipped to really captain one. So we’re along for the ride. And it’s frustrating, and sometimes it’s humbling, but it’s still as close as I’m ever going to get. So we take the crumbs and are grateful. But sometimes we stop and wonder, What does that make us?”