Bits of me are floating aimlessly here, in this fragmented space that used to be a flurry of logic and hope and emotion and bad jokes.
All separate from the whole.
There are bursts of sound and light, but they don't mean anything to me.
In this moment all I am is fear, confusion, and the lone spike of a lived experience cycling again and again.
The same relentless buzzing. It screeches with agony over what few things pass for my senses in this state.
I flee from it, and I fail.
I fight it, and I fail.
I try to hold on to consciousness amid the endless screaming pain, and I fail.
And then I am here. Barely myself. Barely anything. But it doesn't feel like death, or the other fates I came to know.
It still doesn't mean anything to me, in the moment. Nothing really could.
I am static as what feels like eons pass over me.
Only the sounds and flickering colors broke up the monotony of this existence. They came in spurts, followed by long stretches of dark silence.
There were other sensations too, more intuitive. A soft chime here, a gust of wind there. It felt different, welcoming, but in no way I cared to appreciate.
Time lurched onward.
It didn't last forever.
The bursts of sensory information grew more persistent - my surroundings, forming from loose concepts into vague shapes and understanding. The buzzing began to fade, slowly at first and then losing much its intensity, as the scattered motes of what made up my being seemed to pull together.
I think she's coming to.
Memories took shape, beyond the overriding torture of that moment I lived endlessly. Some clearer than others, but it was quite the shakeup for this null space. With memory came meaning, purpose and value. In life, in existing.
Ma'am? Can you hear me?
It made sense to care, again. And holy hell, did I care about being alive.
Unnnh... hnhuh?
That's reassuring, right?
Well. I did my best to show it, but my body seems like it had some catching up to do. My mouth struggled to form words, my limbs refused to move more than a touch.
Checking pupil dilation...
A warm, calloused hand held my eyelid wide open, bathing it in irritating sterile light. I groaned as it left its afterimage.
Responsive. Listen, ma'am, I'll hold up a finger. Follow it with your eyes, please.
You want me to do that right after you burn a big dark splotch on my retina?
The frustration doesn't end up writ on my face quite like I'd want, and instead I squint weakly like a sniffy rodent.
The vague shape of the person - I assume a medtech - waves a blurry finger across my vision. I cooperate and aim the new reticle they scorched into my vision at the digit as it travels, left and right.
Good response. Give her a second.
I tried to place their voices. Nothing I knew. Bretonian, I think?
The wheels are churning, but slowly. I still don't quite remember where exactly I was last. What was I doing?
You said the medscan results looked promising?
Aye, the lesions have abated, though we'll see if there's lasting impact as she goes.
The lung and the broken arm are coming along. Looks a clean heal.
I'm not really paying attention anymore, but I feel a dull pain in my limbs as their words paint the picture of the state I'm in to my subconscious.
I feel utterly exhausted.
I briefly take in the surroundings I can make out. Surprisingly dingy. Pillars rise from concrete flooring, staggered between metal-plated walls across the room from my bed, which feels a bit rough and primitive.
If this is a medical suite, it feels... sparse. Loose cabinets, crash carts and limited optronics. The only light in this room other than the glow from the couple displays comes from several antiquated lamps across the center ceiling.
Distantly, from somewhere, the sound of a battering wind is howling through the structure. Despite how violent it sounds outside, the rhythm of it is delightfully reassuring, sized against the empty void. It beats wherever I was that I ended up in this condition. I hope.
I at least don't believe I have anything to fear for the moment, if I'm still breathing.
Grand, that's grand. Ma'am, take it slow. You're recovering from a pretty lengthy blackout.
We're still monitoring your condition, so just relax. You'll be a few days yet.
You don't have to tell me twice. I apparently got a whole lot of practice being immobile lately.
I catch one last look at the fuzzy figure as my eyes shut, and I plummet into a far more restful sleep.
I welcomed the proper uninterrupted rest. However, when I woke, I was surprised to find myself not in that rough looking medbay, but in what looked like a prison cell.
I’m laid up in a concrete room with a high ceiling, and only one door made of metal. My bed was sequestered into a sad little corner. There's a tiny vent high up on one of the high walls for circulation, and that howling wind still makes itself known from there. A single thin beam of light shines down from the ceiling into the center, pushing the dark into the periphery of the space and stinging my weary eyes as I pry them open.
Not the most comfortable place. Not even a restroom. I thought I'd be waking up to the medtechs again.
Maybe this doesn't bode as well as I thought.
Okay. Relax. I'll just have to remember to give them a one-star review later. That's all.
I know I'm on a planet at least. The gravity doesn't feel particularly abnormal, so I don't think I'm under a dome on a moon or anything. And it's cold, more so than I’d gotten used to being out in the elements on Erie season-round, when we had blankets of snow resting on the canopy above our campsites. The chill practically lives in the walls here. I try not to let it sap my resolve, even if it steals the heat from my fingertips.
There's a few places this could be... but I'm too fuzzy to sort through them right now. Even just sorting through my memories of where I was before I woke up feels like trudging through mental mud. Frustrating.
Instead, I check on how I'm feeling. Still a bit dazed, so best to take it slow. There's a dull pain under my ribcage that rears its head when I breathe. Plenty of red marks along my arms. Received several lacerations, looks like. Altogether in one piece, though.
I wonder how much luck I've burned through living like this. I'm beginning to lose count of the brushes with death. I hope he hasn't opened a tab for me.
I look back to the rather primitive door. There's a retractable vision slit set at eye level, but it looks like it's opened from the opposite side.
I pull myself out of bed carefully, dressed in a loose-fitting patient gown. Coming up from under the covers elicits a shiver. I hurry over to the door and try to open it: locked. So, I give it a knock.
Hello?
No reply. I don't see any cameras in this cell to get anyone's attention, so I pound again.
Excuse me? Is someone there? Uh... hello?!
Quiet as the grave. Not good.
I step away and sit on the bed, spending a few moments to ponder. The fog's started to clear enough for me to know I'm in this mess because I charged off on my own.
Despite knowing it was a risk, knowing they would be hunting. What kind of stupid idea was that?
Whatever the reason, I have contacts out there. I was among friends. Sort of. Maybe it was moreso between friends, at the time. I need to get a message to them somehow, but that's not happening as long as I'm stuck in here without a Net linkup.
On the other hand... there is also the gift.
The dormant potential she taught me to harness, within the Shrine. Knowing the rhythm of consciousness, and how to conduct it to bridge the spaces between.
I remember the means by which she would reach across the expanse of space to sing new thought to those minds she was familiar with.
But that's a fool's hope, I think.
I had already tested the limit of my talent without our connection, since I'd barely escaped the fate that would have led me to, and achieving the same feats as her kin is beyond me. Due in no small part, I bet, to the advantages of their meticulously designed biology. There are ways to compensate for that, and precisely none are available to me here.
I'm on my own. Be careful what you wish for, I suppose.
The vision port on the door suddenly slides open with a hair-raising metallic scrape, startling me clean out of my thoughts. A pair of tense brown eyes are peeking through at me, and this stranger's youthful voice pipes up from the other side.
O-oah! You look alive! Good. Now that I've seen you are, can you keep it down?
What- keep it down?
Yeah, that's eeeh, that's what I said isn't it? We're trying to listen to the broadcast.
No, look- I need to talk to someone. Am I some kind of prisoner? Where am I?
Well, I think I'm someone, but, for serious now? Damn, girl, nobody told you?
You "think" you're someone?
Erh- shut your mouth! Figure of speech.
It's an olive skinned young man with dark, curly hair, and a loud bouncing voice that quivers a tiny bit at the start of his sentences. Judging by the attitude, I'd say my visit isn't solely of a medical nature anymore.
You're our guest until the big man has his word with you, ¿tú entiendes?
I rise and approach the door to meet him eye to eye. His presence practically vibrates with unearned bravado, with the two of us separated. By his accent and word choice, unmistakably Hispanian. Whichever variant I'm dealing with, that's grim, but I silently hope that it's anyone but the Maltese.
Can you at least tell me where I am, or what day it is? My head's spinning, it's really cold and the room service could honestly be better.
Aw, you gotta pay extra for the special treatment, Sirian chica. And you look like you got about zero scrip, so too bad, eh?
What about some warmer clothes, maybe? I don't want to freeze over before he gets to me.
You deal with it, that's what. Maybe the others would yip and yap with you, but not me. I'm too rock solid for that.
Yeah, man of few words clearly...
I contemplate my options, but before I come to a course of action, I notice with how close I am to the slit that he's wearing a hat.
Wait a second...
With purpose, I step up to look right through the slit and up at the hat, our eyes centimeters apart for a brief moment. The force of my approach stifles his attitude and he reflexively steps back from the door, giving me a clear view of the red and black baseball- well, plasmaball cap he has over his curly black hair. The team name is embroidered on the front.
Denver Destroyers!
Is that my hat?!
Getting a full look at the kid, he looks barely out of his teens. No cardamine injector I can see, and I spy the bullhorned emblem on his vest jacket.
Corsair. Revulsion takes me and I give him my iciest look. What they were doing to the Zoners on Freeport 9 is fresh in mind. Not to mention the racers on the Hood. I enjoyed those people.
He recovers from his momentary recoil long enough to grin back at me glaring daggers at him.
Nah-ah. Was your hat! Now it's mine. Me, I'm a big fan of that sport you all lose it over. Now I got a little something to show it off, heh.
It doesn't match his rust red Cretan clothing any better than it usually matches mine, but I've grown fond of it. I'm not eager on leaving gifts I've gotten in pirate hands. Besides, I wear it better.
Don't get used to it. I want that back.
Whatever. Now, eh- crawl back in your hole 'till we're nice and ready. And keep it down.
He probably meant for that to sound more intimidating, but the way his hand quivers a bit reaching up to slide the viewport shut doesn't help him much.
Just like that, he's gone.
I take myself a moment to breathe and refocus, to keep the nerves surrounding my helplessness at bay. I've been through worse. Just not as the captive.
If it's the Corsairs holding me, I'm probably in the Omegas. Or at best, Rheinland, in the sticks someplace. There's no way to tell.
I was right about that. A fair amount of time has passed. At least ten days.
The cold has been oppressive. It's a daily struggle to keep it from stealing the feeling in my limbs.
I wasn't lucky enough to get any estimate on warmer clothes from my hosts for the first day. The gown they gave me and the bed covers were not sufficient for fighting the chill. I strained to resist the urge to lay in bed and shiver, and worked in as many exercises as I could manage in sparse conditions like these since they started providing me food.
Well, it's just synth paste, but it's enough to keep me going so I can work on getting my body back into the swing of things. Gets the blood flowing, and the activity eases my mind.
Left arm's been popping a lot more in the elbow now... it's still weak. I'll need to push through it if I'm going to be as sharp as I was before. At least the scarring seems to have faded. Well treated. That's a little shocking for how dingy things are around here.
Some more folks did eventually come check up on me, besides the young Corsair. Bretonians by their voices, wearing cold weather clothes, blue green patches on the arms. No room for relief at them not being Cretans, though. Still held me at gunpoint when I asked to go to the restroom.
The concrete structure I'm in seemed quite vast - I think I'm on just one of several floors after I got a look outside my cell. The walls have a slight curvature to them too, curiously enough. My pair of stern Bret escorts were entirely resistant to me asking where I was or trying to elicit some compromising small talk, and rushed me toward the restroom - thankfully, having the decency to wait outside.
After we returned, they gave me some clothes - some underwear, a green tee and some jeans, some cheap brown moccasins, a belt and an orange hoodie jacket. It helped a little with insulation, and the paste kept me going, but damn if I don't look ratty, especially my hair. It's not a comfortable state of being, but it is a guarantee they didn't want me freezing over. I'll take any of those I can get.
In the meantime, I think. I pour over what happened to me. How it felt. That overriding sense of emptiness. Like it was sucking me in, sapping my lungs, tearing out my nerves. That now ranks among the worst things I've had the displeasure of experiencing.
How did I even survive?
It's not like I could get away. I had no way out, but, here I am...
My whiling away of the hours got cut short by a knock on the door. I shout to the other side of the door to whoever thinks they need to bother being so polite.
Yes? Someone there?
Someone you're due a chat with. May I come in?
It's your dungeon, buddy.
The door creaks open, and in steps a portly, gruff looking man with a smile on his lips. Blond, blue-eyed, a scraggly short beard and slicked hair. He moves with an ease that sets him apart from his companions, who enter with him.
I see a mountain of a Hispanian man in a dark clothing, sweater laden with bandoliers. He sports a distinctive black walrus mustache, and has a certain murderous aura about him the longer I look. The young Corsair from before, notably without my hat and looking a touch bitter, trails just behind him. They both loom near the door, a menacing background presence.
The Bretonian man leading them walks over to me sitting on my bedframe, and offers my plasmaball cap towards me, head bowed slightly.
It's a dam, not a dungeon, lass. This, on the other hand, is yours.
I don't think I'd have been left ignorant and freezing my toes off if they cared about being nice. Still, this is more than I've gotten out of anyone that wasn't gloating at me.
I take the hat, and my hair's not doing me any favors right now, so I plant it atop my head. The Corsair boy sneers my way in response.
Well, thanks. I appreciate it. So where are we?
The scruffy gentleman paces calmly, motioning with his hands while he talks.
Oh, straight to the brass tacks? Let's at least swap names before we get on to the tedium.
Would you say that if you were stuck in a box for a week?
I'd relish the opportunity to gab after so much quiet. Here, I'll kick us off: name's Rudy. You?
Theresa... Theresa Rubble. I'm a courier from Bethlehem.
It's not a good lie, but it's probably better than throwing my real name around right now.
And I'm the man what saved your hide, out in the black. Shame that's not who you are, though.
Um- meaning what?
AWES at the Dublin Raceway in 830. My man Jasper's a fan, watches time to time. Got a memory for faces. Your name's Aspen Harlow.
Nuts.
Not that I blame you. Typical Zoner caution. A doctor, right? What starts an egghead flying racing ships anyhow?
Ah well. I was never a great liar anyway. Maybe I can make some rapport out of this.
I shrug and grin. The cool, calm me: relaxed and friendly.
Pft. A habit for picking up dangerous hobbies. Sticks to me even after my career change.
You also pick up fans, judging by "Sunshine's Groupie Wagon". Must be one hell of a story there.
Oh my God.
People actually remember the groupie freighter. People I've never met. Is this divine punishment?
My cheeks flush and I'm suddenly dreading that those races were recorded for the whole sector to see.
Ope- gosh, no. No clue where they came from, but it was nice of 'em to cheer me on. Maybe I'd be more comfortable if they kidnapped me.
Kidnapping? Me? Never. We can just be little rough with the accommodations. It's our sort of normal here.
Well you've got rough right. What's your word for it, then?
"Post-operation convalescence"! That, and I was running late. Terribly busy lately, y'see.
You'll tell me it's all pro bono too, right? Fingers crossed.
Oh, we'll talk money in a second. But for your first question, welcome to our little slice of the Big Can.
Gran Canaria. Somewhere cold on the planet, obviously. Mountains? The poles, maybe?
BMM built this dam, you know. New construction for the colony they were going to jam people from the Leeds overflow into. Your lot showed them off though, so they're trying again on what you're all still calling Sprague, up in Omega-3. Makes for an ironic little hideaway for me and mine.
They aren't really "my lot", you know. I'm Pennsylvanian. It's a nice planet, though.
Aye, 'tis. Just the same, doctor, we'd like to keep our homes looking just as fine. Or, 'least as close to it as we can manage. Turns out there's always someone in Bretonia who'd like to recreate Leeds when they dream about the bottom line it brought for all those centuries.
I've known women from Leeds. The inhumanity of the bombardment aside, they told me that it wasn't much better before it was rendered lifeless anyway.
I hope they're both alright.
So, we put a wrench in plans like that. Doing that well takes information and planning, and that's my department these days. Just looking for a few answers. About, say, where you've been, or about that curious shiny trinket you had aboard your vessel.
Trinket? Y-yeah, I had an object aboard. Alien. It could be dangerous. Are you keeping it secured?
I've been sweating about that artifact all week. I still have no idea what it does after an initial scan. I definitely wasn't in a hurry to use my talent to try and tap into it, to conduct its echo. Too many uncomfortable stories about the danger of active specimens. I hate to imagine these people using it like a paperweight.
Oh, no. The thing itself is off to the private display of some Yank poser by now. Might be there already. I sold it.
What an IDIOT.
Why?!
Well the payout for starters. Fancy piece, worth a high price even this late into the trade. That and you had nothing else to pay me with, by my eyes. Where'd you pull it from? Sprague? Running it up to Liberty?
Wh- no! I've never been to Sprague! I was going to study it, determine its purpose, earn us a little insight into their workings. Not go pawn it off like a looter. Why would I do that?
This guy is actually grinning at me, I can see the satisfaction in his eyes. I glare daggers. If it wasn't for his Corsair goons...
Well if that's the case, then who was it what did you in? No other reason to travel that corridor.
What does it matter to you anyway? Just looking for more where that came from?
Ohoh, if only I'd get so lucky, then our money problems would be done with even if BIS did swarm all over us. So who jumped you?
Focus. Breathe. Regulate yourself.
Don't bother lying. Try the truth. Just, edited slightly.
Folks I'd have been better off not learning about. The kind that make you pay if you do. It's a... personal feud.
Hm. Fine then. Unlucky for you, though, surely.
Just like that? That was easy. Better this way for him, anyway.
I'll tell you how I see it, since you seem more like the clueless spelunker than a real mover or shaker.
I give him a look of confusion. What did he expect?
Maybe you think you've got some high and noble purpose so you can dumpster dive in an alien's refuse. Good for you. What I see, aside from a big plus to the bank account for making do of the situation, is someone who's going to bring attention to a route I'd rather not have looked at that closely. People who whacked you are your business? Fair play. But something like that could've attracted eyes. I don't want that trouble anywhere near what we're up to.
And what is that?
Fighting for our bloody dignity, that's what. From BMM, the Crown, bunters on the prowl. Understanding what that dead species used for toilet paper or whatever the hell else, is worthless next to that.
He's genuinely frustrated. Definitely sees me as some kind of threat for my bumbling around.
His emotions are raw, now. Even without actively tapping the gift, I can feel their potency arc through the space between us.
If I just focus for a moment... reach for that current... follow it back to the source...
Simmering. The being of the man in front of me churns within, an anxious boil. Methodically, professionally, he suppresses it. Problems off a list, addressed cleanly. But the concern is ever present, merely tamed. Before my sight, laid bare. In a flash, the core of his emotion, the crux of his feeling. Of his new, distant home...
Protectiveness.
My eyes flutter for an instant as I come back to myself. Rudy's arching an eyebrow, looking at me like I just spat on his shoes.
It doesn't matter. Shallow of a look as it was, I think I'm confident about an approach.
Listen... Rudy. I didn't find the artifact on Sprague. I'm not out to endanger anyone, least of all the people who rescued me. It was just bad luck. I know I'm not one of your own, but you've got my honest thanks, from one spacer to another. Maybe I can help.
Is that an admission of debt coming my way?
If we consider that debt paid with both the proceeds from the artifact, and also my honest efforts at making sure no attention comes towards you for this, yeah. If I'm missing for too long, though, people I know may come looking around. Neither of us want the trouble after you did me such a good turn. Let me handle that for you.
His calloused hand runs over his short beard, in that pondering elder sort of way, side eyeing me. It's hard to tell whether he's budging, but I'm more focused on making my case.
You'd have to let me go. It's good for both of us, and you don't need to give it a second thought. Nice, isn't it?
How long are you going to listen to this prattle? Do we ransom the Zoner, or not?
The burly Corsair marches over to just behind his... employer? Partner? He looks like he's about done listening to me go on, the way he rolled his head.
He's sort of sabotaging me. I don't want to be stuck here just so these people can squeeze money out of my friends.
Seems like that's up to Rudy.
Thank you to the peanut gallery for the input, but I'll make that call when I'm right and ready.
You made your wealth circumventing our trade. Then you whisk away the majority of the proceeds? You owe us tribute for our work here.
The young Corsair seems to almost rise to say something too, but hesitates, staying just behind his older counterpart.
You don't need to commit to anything you don't think is worth the risk.
I'm bloody well aware.
There's a bit of venom in his voice when he glares at me. This "welcome guest" pretense is wearing a bit thin.
Easy does it. I don't want to push my luck.
Rudy looks me over, then his partner, before motioning to the doorway.
We're done for now. Torente and Soto, why don't we sort out our side of things?
I simply watch them go, still seated, the younger one being the last out. We wrinkle our noses at each other, and before I know it I'm alone again.
Their footsteps echo and fade off into the corridor out the door. I can only hope that conversation ends well for me.
So I'm finding reason to believe my hosts' chit-chatting didn't go in my favor.
Up 'gainst the wall! Arms 'hind your back!
Two armed Bretonians, a thickly-bearded big man and a straight-haired woman with a cybernetic hand, see to me standing against the wall of the cell at gunpoint, back turned. The woman briskly strides on over to lock my hands in a pair of stun cuffs, which snap on securely and self-adjust to fit to my wrists.
Is that necessary? I'm not planning to make any trou- mmpf!
I let out an embarrassing squeak. She also just stuffed a linen bag over my head like we're in a holovid. Old fashioned and really damned rude. The bar for treatment keeps getting lower, and that's got me worried.
My rescuers might be about done with me.
Like we're going to be takin' yer word for it, doll.
Yeah. Don't want you slippin' off where you shouldn't be. Try it and I'll cook ya.
To make his point, the bearded man rattles something in his hand. I'm guessing the controls for the stun cuffs. I'm already imagining the nervous shock that'd follow if he pressed the button, and that's more than enough convincing to behave. Even if I never really intended to make some daring escape.
I gulp down my trepidation and stifle the nervous rattling in my hands as best I can. After they finish, the man grabs my shoulder and starts me walking just in front of them. We leave the cell, but I'm walking blind, pulled this way and that by my captors. I'm not feeling very optimistic anymore.
Still. Calm. Don't lose your center.
They wouldn't just up and shoot me after going through the effort to mend me. Or would they? I try and think like a criminal. If he doesn't want any kind of trail, disappearing people draw attention. I made sure to emphasize that, hoping that'd grow a little seed of doubt. Maybe he decided live ones are worse in that regard? After all, nobody's come looking yet. Or have they? But how would they know where I am now? And if anybody found their way here, it isn't here he's even worried about. I don't know. There's too many unknowns to feel certain.
Yeah... that doesn't leave me feeling reassured, being carted around by my maybe executioners.
After a good few minutes of walking, we enter a new room that carries a bit of an echo, leaving it feeling rather spacious. I'm walked down some steps, and up against something that by my guess seems like a small vehicle. The sound of a door unlatching and swinging open is followed by a bark from the man behind me.
Come on, in ya go, sharpish!
I try my best to cooperate with getting essentially shoved into a cramped compartment, where I'm settled into a seat, my legs aching to find clearance against another seat in front of me. One of my escorts, the man I think, climbs in next to me and in making a point, presses my hip with the barrel of his gun. As if the cuffs weren't enough insurance!
You just sit merry, don't struggle. We'll be going for a little trip.
I'm, um, flattered you think I'd try to escape at this point.
Either way, that's not gonna be a problem for you much longer.
I hear an engine start, but none of the exhilaration in my chest from liftoff that I've come to love. Instead, we're rolling forward. It's a groundcar, then. We can't be going far, if that's the case. Perhaps just far enough to dump me out back.
Our vehicle rumbles on, descending at a slight incline through the hissing winds outside for most of the hour-long trip.
Barely a word is spoken.
They drove us all the way out to some little settlement, not really all that much larger than David's Hollow on Denver. I could tell there was the bustle of vehicles and even a few aircraft outside, the din of civilization, but I was blind until we pulled in towards our destination. The big man shuffled me out of the vehicle, and promptly yanked the sack off my head.
The brightness stung something fierce at first, but I was greeted with the sight of a walled off shuttleport. Our enclosed quad buggy was parked close to the boarding ramp, next to the landing pad. Mountains loomed in the near distance, with the town looking like it's in some kind of fishbowl valley. So much warmer than where we were, the Omega-48 star casting a reddish hue over the land and buildings surrounding the little compound.
It looked like the place had been closed off to the public. There wasn't anyone else around inside the walls - save for us.
We didn't exchange many more words, and they didn't answer any questions. They simply undid my cuffs, giving me dour looks the whole time, and threw my green flightsuit at my feet. I tied the sleeves around my waist and wore it over my back like a rucksack, which just made me look more disheveled altogether. They were waiting for something.
I figured out what soon enough. An unmarked aeroshuttle swept in towards the landing pad before long, and after it landed the two Bretonians swiftly saw me aboard. I didn't have much time to contemplate the whats or whys. I was just relieved this wasn't a short trip to a shallow grave.
The ramp had raised and the shuttle lifted and pulled out of the port almost no sooner than it had arrived, leaving behind Rudy's people. Nearly stumbled off my feet as she lifted off and had to brace myself against the compartment wall.
But, lo and behold, I'm alone again. On to who-knows-where. That's a feeling I'm quite used to by now.
We gain altitude, but it doesn't look like we're going starside. The Canarian landscape below becomes distant and unfocused, the town we lifted off from fading into the myriad colors and textures of the world many kilometers below. I try to walk up to the cabin, carefully, to talk to the pilot of this shuttle, but the door is locked. An optronic display next to the door flashes a red X sign at me, and an indication to remain seated.
With no way to override the door, call for help, or otherwise make myself a nuisance, I take a seat and wait.
Seated here in the passenger bay, I'm finally able to loosen up and think for a second.
I suppose Rudy made a decision to see me off after all. As expected, with me entirely out of the loop. Courteous goodbyes seem not to be the modus operandi for that gentleman. And I'm the worst kind of fool for letting the guy profit off me and loosing yet another potentially dangerous artifact on Sirius.
That's the way of the sector, I reckon.
Perhaps it makes a good wakeup call. I'm the only one who can fully own what's happened to me, here. Because I didn't want anyone else to pick up the buck. I thought I could find some miraculous answer or relief for our problems alone, and that nobody else was in any shape to shoulder that risk. Well, look what that earned me: pain beyond measure, a coma, my friends likely all thinking I must've died, and a guest stay in an icebox for two weeks.
But it's not as if I'm ignorant of why I felt that way.
A pit forms in my chest at the thought. The same reason I struck out towards every little dangerous promise of the unknown. It always revealed such wonders whenever I took a breath, and just dared to step forward. Bruises, too. Oh, there were lots of bruises. But they never lasted, compared to learning something new. Even during the occupation, the few times I actually willingly got myself into something dangerous, it paid off for everyone. Bruises and all.
This was different.
I should be dead. Period. That's what I would have earned myself, if the universe wasn't so unpredictable. Nobody would have happened on me, and I'd be gone. Just like him. That's what I'd be inflicting on everyone else.
And for what? Poetic satisfaction? How can I keep that up? I've already seen how my behavior affects Levan.
Congratulations on setting a poor example, me.
I brush the guilt aside, at least for as long as it's going to take to get a comm out to him, Becky, Kris. Somebody.
The view through the windows, at least, is far and away more beautiful than the last box I was stuck in. It's comforting beyond measure, seeing the lush planet scrolling below and the star gleaming as it disappears over the horizon behind us.
Reminds me of home.
I wake from my first semi-pleasant nap in weeks with a shudder. We must've set down just now, I could feel it.
The humming of the engine must've lulled me off to sleep. Music to my ears after so long.
The shuttle ramp unceremoniously falls, not caring to give me any time to adjust to my new surroundings, and unfolding beyond is a much more imposing sight than whichever town I was passing through on my way out of custody. A towering cityscape, terraced skyscrapers connecting overhead, while streets and wide footpaths fill the space between structures here at ground level, flowing with vehicles and throngs of people.
The night sky displays the stars overhead just barely, thanks to all the light pollution, but one feature dominates overhead: the Barrier nebula cleanly bisects the void above, a vast white trench cutting the tapestry of stars in half leaving only those furthest from it visible to us on the ground. Light reflecting from the nebula bathes the city in something like ethereal moonlight, the night only lit further by the signage, streetlights and vehicles all over. A soft fog rolls between the buildings on this pleasantly cool evening.
It's no spaceport we've landed at, either. It looks more like another municipal shuttleport for local flights, but this one is very much in operation. There's three other pads here, and self-service terminals to pay for tickets.
People of all stripes crowd the pad, and look to scan the shuttle I'm on for a service number that matches the tickets they paid for, seeming puzzled when they realize I'm the only one aboard. It doesn't hold their attention long though, and they go back to minding themselves when they see this isn't their ride.
All passengers are now cleared to disembark. Thank you for your patronage.
A recorded, flat male voice emanates from within the passenger compartment, to hurry me out. I again take the time to go to knock on the door to the pilot's cabin, but still get no reply. I don't believe I'm going to get any explanation for this, but I can infer well enough.
I hesitantly take my first steps off the shuttlecraft out into the open air of the pad, and onto the boarding platform where everyone is awaiting their particular shuttle. No sooner than I step off the ramp does it raise, and the shuttle begins to take off.
I turn to get a look at it one last time, watching the aeroshuttle ascend and skip off away from the platform, back to whatever hole Rudy must've summoned it out of to get rid of me.
I really am free to go.
My shoulders loosen with a deep sigh. This is real, thank goodness.
Alright. I'm alive. Time to gather my bearings.
I walk up and try to ask a stranger, a younger man, a question or two.
Excuse me - could you tell me where we are right now?
You not able to read a sign? Go away.
He points dismissively past the crowd, and goes right back to ignoring me promptly, like everyone else waiting here.
Not entirely unexpected. I look a little rough right now. I find I'm in dire need of a hot shower and a comb.
I peek around the growing crowd, and descend the stairs in the direction he pointed in down to street level, just below the shuttleport landing pads. The sign at the base of the stairs leading back up designates where I'm at.
TASARTE SHUTTLEPORT NORTH
I think Tasarte's the name of the city. Maybe. I don't remember the word from when I was here four years back on my first loop through the Omegas. But, it's a start isn't it? Progress.
I find a metal bench near the stairs that's unoccupied, people still flowing around me by the dozens up and down the stairs and down the street. I take a seat, and realize something.
I'm alone in a city I've never been in before with no ship, no ID, no PDA and no friends. I can fix that if I could just comm someone, but that might be a problem for another reason.
It's a lot like Lake City. Murmuring crowds of people and passing spacecraft overhead fill the air with the go-along humming of urban life. It's been just about four years and some change, since I left the life I'd made back there. Taking a plunge on flight school definitely did raise eyebrows in the family.
I've never regretted the choice, but I do miss waking up in the comfort of my own little domain. Surfing the various Freeport habs and their environments ranging from homey to coarse, or roughing it on a spaceship might be fulfilling excursions, but it doesn't match the sense of belonging from having my own place. Nor does getting stuffed into prison cells, for that matter.
I know I can't go back, regardless. Not after Liberty's invasion, after the annexation. At least not to back how it was. I'd only be there to aid the fight, or say my goodbyes. Curiosity tempts me to wonder what it must be like for the people making their lives here instead. Canarians won out against their own occupiers after all. They have to be worried about the eventual climate freeze though, surely. It'll change everything, as circumstance typically does for the Zoner community.
But in this moment, it echoes Erie.
That soothes my nerves, which I surely need after getting brushed aside by most people I try to talk to. Running up against urban apathy doesn't surprise me - I've been these people before - but it does chip away at my optimism a bit.
I need to get a hold of someone. For that, I need credits. Or a lot of goodwill.
After taking a public elevator to some of the connected terraces in the upper city, that's where I get lucky. Among more of the foot traffic, I spy a younger couple, a black-haired taller girl and a blonde young man, taking pictures in a spot near the safety railing, looking down on the streets and buildings below. Tourists, maybe, but they're stupid cute and I can't help but smile.
Schicker Hut, aber ich bin dann doch lieber für unser Team.
Ope-!
The blonde man, a little skinny, caught me watching and wears the smallest smirk on the planet as he looks me over. My cheeks flush a bit, but I hope to bail myself out with a friendly little wave. Rheinlandic German always kicked my butt.
Um, hey! Hope you're having a decent day.
The taller woman playfully shoves the guy by his shoulder, and nods to me.
Hello there. Do not mind him, he just enjoys your cap. We are fans too, back in Hamburg.
Oh, how neat! So you're taking in the view?
Changing the topic's better than mentioning I haven't actually seen a full plasmaball game in almost half a decade.
Yes, taking pictures. We did not know Zoners built cities this way. Something to share with our other traveler friends.
I can hold the camera if you want. Help you take a little piece of the world with you?
Ja, bitte!
So long as you do not mind!
The photos come out beautifully with the mountains in the background. I can tell through the tiny smiles that they're giddy about sharing the moment together - despite their reserved personalities. Maybe it's a Rheinlander cultural quirk? Sort of charming.
They thanked me, and were glad to repay the favor when I asked if they could give me directions to a bank terminal with their PDA. Came within a hair's breadth of asking them to send the message for me, but... with how many dangerous, ruthless parties are tied up in our mutual problem, it's safer for everyone if I send any message under my own name, or secretly. There's no way I'm endangering these people with loose threads that could lead trouble their way.
We say our goodbyes, and I file away a mental note that I owe one to Ida and Herman, for posterity. Thanks, you two.
It's a short walk away towards the concourse a few towers over where the attended ATMs are located, so I take in the city as I walk, stopping at a public drinking fountain for a minute. Drinking deep, I allow the wind to brush over me as it whirls between the skyscrapers.
Just as I'm starting to move on, I notice a group of shifty looking men, three of them. Leather jackets, and each having a holstered weapon of some kind. They don't look like law enforcement.
I'm painfully aware that I'm not a very good fighter. I might not know who they are or what they're doing, but I do know that I would prefer not to find out firsthand.
One glances my way and seems to be taking an interest. My heart quickens.
No thank you.
I hasten away from the fountain at a brisk walk, gaining distance while keeping things cool. Acting natural under observation has served me pretty well, especially since the occupation, and it seems to here as well. I don't know if it's because I seem like I know where I'm going, or due to general disinterest, but the small party doesn't follow me. Thank goodness.
Alright, so maybe it's not exactly like Erie. That's okay. Variety's the spice of life, right?
One sigh of relief later, I continue to bumble my way towards a quite lively gray market bazaar, located in the middle of a local concourse between all the skybridges connecting the towers of the upper city. Conveniently located nearby in a small structure are several banking terminals, with an attendant overseeing them. I go over to greet her.
Looking up from a datapad, she puts on a customer service smile and seems to take a moment to look me over before speaking. No need for the doubletake, hon. I know I don't look stellar.
Hi there! Help you with anything?
Howdy! I need to withdraw some credit chits, is that alright? There's no prereq usage fee, is there?
Nnnnno, not a fee as such...
She rolls her eyes while enunciating "as such". Here we go...
So I can just-... ?
Whoa, just a sec! This is your first time here, isn't it?
Yes, that's correct.
Oh- well, welcome! That means that before I letcha use our terminals, I need you to sign-a-statement-of-understanding-that-our-independent-teller-machine-deployment-company-isn't-liable-for-any-financial-distress-as-a-result-of-fraudulent-use-of-our-machines, does that sound alright?
Geez louise, she blew through that in almost six seconds!
I don't hide my astoundment at all, but she doesn't so much as flinch.
Um, uh- so, by fraudulent use, you're referring to if someone tried to steal my money from here?
That's part of it, I guess! Just boring legal stuff, honestly.
Liability protection. That sounds normal enough.
Works for me, miss.
Great! Here's a form and a pen. I know, paper, right? So retro.
I take the pen in hand and the form she hands me, leaning up against the counter she's standing behind to make ready to sign. Once I have a little money in hand, I can buy some time at a proper Net terminal and get a message out, or get a new PDA and-
NEW COVENANT CHURCH SIGN-UP FORM
Uh.
I think you might have handed me the wrong form, miss.
Huh? Oh! That! Yeah, we also only service those within the Faith of Deux! But that isn't a problem, right?
"Deux"... I don't believe I understand. Is this a Christian denomination?
It's higher than that, it's the culmination of all those old religions! But I'm not a priest, so they'll send you all kinds of info after you sign.
Not so sure about "those old religions". Folks in my town were raised Baptist.
Oh my honey, don't worry. There's still hope for you!
She flushes her lips in a cheeky, still-a-little-insincere smile.
No, don't worry for me. I am agnostic these days. Gods and I don't often work out for very long.
Well you just haven't found the right one yet! Trust me when I say you won't regret receiving the Church newsletter!
A disconcertingly zealous light in her eye glints.
This is sort of inane, but she's standing between me and my NN account. I could spend more time talking around her, but...
Ohh, so be it. Worse things have happened.
You know, persistence like yours is something I have to reward. As long as I can use the terminals after!
Another sister for the flock! Welcome aboard, yes, welcome aboard!
I sign the form under duress, as well as the actual disclaimer form that she "misplaced" until I got the Church membership out of the way. I'm now an enlightened member of... well, a New Covenant Church. She said I'd have a newsletter sent to my Neural Net, but as a fresh neophyte of about ten seconds, I have no clue what I'm supposed to believe.
I suppose I'll find out. This is probably some kind of demographic scam. I'll worry about that after I'm not destitute!
Accessing one of the ATMs, I input my NN account information swiftly on the console. Security questions, mhm mhm... what was the name of your dog, et cetera...
And, success!
Due to repeated suspicious login attempts, this account has been flagged for possible identity theft. If you are the genuine account holder, please visit the office of your establishing branch in person to unlock and secure your account. Ensure you bring all necessary personal identification.
Your branch office is located here: Freeport 10.
Sister? You got to push the buttons to make the terminal work, it doesn't follow your eyes!
This is not happening.
I can't even talk to an operator. The terminal is just stuck on that screen. The only option I have is to log out.
Ma'am?
Uh- nevermind.
This is going to be harder than I thought. I press the logout option and leave the little ATM shack, passing my new sister-in-arms.
I can't even begin to parse how this happened to me. Loose documents on Heisenberg? I haven't been there in a while. And if my banking's compromised, my Net account probably is too.
Tch. Witness the furthest and deepest bounds of the sector, and it's this that might do me in.
What am I supposed to do now?
I'm shaken out of my anxious state by those three dangerous-looking men from earlier, appearing in front of me just outside.
This day gets better and better, doesn't it?
Hey you. Lady.
Yes, me. Lady.
We've got a little proposition for you.
His cohorts wear sinister grins. Hands resting on their waists.
Self-assurance washes off the leader in waves, practically buffeting me.
He locks eyes with me. I stare back, despondent.
He extends a hand. There's something in it. I glance down.
NEW COVENANT CHURCH SIGN-UP FORM
Have you considered joining the New Covenant Church?
Oh! I'm sorry, uh... s-... seriously?
It's a respected faith, miss. Membership is growing fast on Canaria. You never know who you might need protection from.
No-... I mean, the weapons and matching biker jackets... why? You have to understand, it makes you come off a little...
Worthy of respect?
Intimidating. It sort of makes you look like...
Go on.
Like a... gang?
His eyebrows nearly leave orbit.
Uh, really? I- I thought- you know, they told us it'd make sure nobody jumps us or tries to start anything. Are we scaring people?
Um, no, hey, it's okay. It's not a bad idea, just... you might just want to pick more friendly outfits. Bright colors.
Huh. Is that a fact?
Definitely. And you can relax about the form. I'm already a member.
Okay, we'll have to write that down. Honestly, someone should've thought this through.
The two young men behind him as well are really cordial. They're local students, doing this on the side to earn some extra money. Apparently they make rounds through the city signing people up for the faith and collecting donations, and they keep a small percentage of what they collect.
That still sounds a lot like extortion. Someone probably did think it through. But these people are actually quite alright on a personal level.
It makes me smile.
But it doesn't solve my problem. They ask if I want to join in to make some money. I shrug and say I'm new to the faith and wouldn't know how to sell it. I definitely could, but it's just an excuse - I'm not keen to harass passersby. The leader said to holler if I change my mind.
I might, if my luck continues.
Seated on a bench in the bazaar, I spend some time watching people come and go through the stalls while I think. They seem to trade everything here: weapons, various styles of armor, vac-suits, electronics, fresh produce, augmentations, different kinds of bots, designer clothes, tourist items, drugs and medical supplies, holobands, even some classic artwork and paintings... it must all flow down this way from Nichols, in orbit. I can squint up through the Barrier-lit night sky and barely make out its running lights, as it blinks its way across the void several hundred kilometers above.
I notice a woman sitting next to me before long, in a long grey overcoat with hair to match, silver-touched black hair in a messy ponytail contained under a headscarf. She has wide reading glasses and looks quite motherly. Also, really out of place in this kind of neighborhood.
She's fussing over a PDA and, to be honest, I think she's trying to ignore that I exist. That was the last available seat around here. Normally I doubt I'd think anything more of it, but the tension on her is palpable.
The longer she remains the object of myawareness,themoreIfeelitbleedingintomeasifitwasmyown.
Iwince.Adullpaininthe back of my neck. I relax the muscles that I've unconsciously tightened, thanks to my neighbor. A few breaths and focus toward recentering myself cools away the needles of that foreign anxiety under my skin.
I should be maintaining better discipline than this. But it's been a long few weeks. I'm tired. Slipping.
For what it's worth, I try to tell myself it isn't my business. Not to intrude.
...but I can't put the genie back in the bottle.
Pardon me, ma'am?
It's a deadly look I receive after grabbing her attention. With a glare like that, she seems ready to whack my knuckles with a ruler.
No, no. I am not interested in the New Covenant Church, do you understand?
I hold both my palms out, facing upward.
Nothing to worry about there! I'm fresh out of forms.
Good, then you can tell your all your extortionist friends, too.
I'd be glad to, ma'am, but I'm not exactly acquainted with much of anyone here. I'm a... fresh arrival.
Not precisely true. But certainly closer to reality than falsehood. Her expression softens.
My apologies, then.
A little head bow. Her airy voice has an accent that I've definitely not had to place before, it's completely new to me. Maybe it's a local thing.
I was only wondering if you were alright. If it's alright to say so, you seem on edge.
You have a good eye. It's the girl at the ATMs. I saw you go in there.
Right, the Church membership form. Why was she so insistent about it?
It is all over nowadays here, this recruitment. Nobody can tell if it is official or not, but I bet they get kickbacks for forcing people to sign.
She rubs her thumb and forefinger together in that classic "pay me" gesture, then shakes her head firmly.
You would not see me do that. I will not leave God's name in the gutter for convenience.
Impressive commitment to principle, ma'am, that's good of you. But I'm guessing you've got to use those ATMs still.
Yes. A loan offer we took out to help a friend in need from Freeport 9. We have to make the payment by midnight.
It'd be reasonable to say I shouldn't involve myself in this when my situation is so unstable. The alternative, though, is playing part in a scam.
I'll pass. And I'm sort of in the mood to fool the attendant girl, I must admit.
Actually, perhaps I could lend a hand. She wouldn't turn away a recent "convert" I bet.
What? Do you mean you want to deposit it for me?
I might as well. I already put my name down.
She gives me a scrutinizing look, which is certainly fair for a neighborhood like this.
I'll watch you the whole time. I want your word that you don't cash that money for yourself.
On my honor. Don't worry, I couldn't even if I wanted to.
Hesitantly, she assents to this plan and lets me handle a Sirius credit card she has with her, watching like a hawk from the bench as I go into action after giving me the target bank's routing info on a little napkin. First I need a little insurance, though.
You'd like to pass out forms? That's more like it! You seem like you have the nerve for this.
Believe me, I'll put them to good use.
Welcome back! Forget anything?
Nope. I'm actually making a deposit.
I hold up the cash card for her to see. She squints, about to put two and two together.
On behalf of a recent donor, actually.
Doesn't that belong to-
The donor on this form? You bet.
I slide forward a signup sheet with a "Theresa Rubble" signature on it. I knew practicing that would come in handy one day.
One of those boys making the rounds introduced me to this work, and I got my first name.
Huh. So it's going to the Church?
Yup, that's correct. Honestly, feels pretty rewarding! I see why you were so persistent.
Well... alright, sister, don't let me stop ya!
The operation goes without a hitch. The machine accepts the prepaid card and the deposit is acknowledged. I ensure it forwards a receipt to her Net, and give my "fellow faithful" one last smile and wave on the way out.
Thank you so much! Merciful God, I had no way to wire it when the money was on the card.
Oho yes, that seems like far more trouble than it's worth.
And you really have nowhere to stay?
Stranded. It's only me and the clothes on my back. I've wandered most of the night.
What is your name miss?
I'm Aspen. It's good to meet you...
Noora al-Idrisi. Welcome to Gran Canaria.
Recite the words of the your Elders, boy.
What is taken by the Empire, remains with the Empire.