Vortex incursion, p.10
Vortex Incursion, page 10
Nalia shared the assembly and operational requirements for the stations with Yma, and then she was free to assess the status of the mining population.
When Nalia stopped clones to examine their thin, scarred bodies, they patiently waited while she catalogued the injuries.
Several clones asked the reason for Nalia’s perusal of their bodies. The SADE replied, “I’m determining the amount of time that you’ll need to be fully repaired.”
As Nalia expected, most of the clones reacted negatively. They worried that some nefarious great experiment would be perpetrated against them.
In reply to the worried faces, Nalia would energize her palm holo-vid and show images of pre- and post-repair of clones from Beta Two. In most cases, she failed to convince the Kilmer clones of the veracity of her images, but she was undeterred.
“You needn’t be the first to be repaired,” Nalia would say. “Some clones will brave the medical stations, and you’ll see the proof of what I’m showing you.”
Kilmer had eight domes, excluding the shuttleport, and Gat’r assigned a dome to each mickie.
“What’s the job, Gat’r?” Tammy asked.
“As expected, there are no records of the mickies,” Gat’r replied. “Nalia has raided medical and purloined hundreds of cids.”
Scrounger snickered at Gat’r’s use of the gang’s colloquial terms, as if they were still deep in Geneva’s lower tunnels.
“Our jobs are to identify the mickie gangs in each dome,” Gat’r continued. “We want names, especially that of the leader, and we want exact locations of the hideouts.”
“So, we’re telling them that the information we’re requesting is to ensure they receive cids?” Lita asked.
“Precisely,” Gat’r replied.
“You know they won’t trust us,” Jasper pointed out. “If we were back on Geneva, we wouldn’t believe someone coming to us with an offer or a gift of this size.”
“It’ll be a work in progress,” Gat’r replied. “We need to deliver cids to two or three gangs, and word will get around.”
Despite rarely seeing starlight, Kilmer’s mickies worked heavily during daylight hours.
So, the Alexander’s mickies waited until early evening hours and haunted the corridors outside the meal rooms. They knew it would be easy to identify the mickies by their age, worn clothing, and lack of cids, which their implant apps could detect.
For most of the Alexander’s mickies, the early days resulted in zero opportunities through no fault of their own. First, a few employee miners would greet them, as they exited the meal rooms, and ask about the suits. Then others would collect. Soon crowds formed and prevented the search for the local mickies.
After Gat’r also repeatedly failed, he took a different approach. He waited until a meal room that he monitored was full, and then he strolled through the front doors. He walked up and down the aisles, briefly disturbing diners, while he searched for a target.
Gat’r and a young mickie identified each other at the same time.
“It’s him. It’s Gat’r,” Trigger gasped, spraying a bit of food across the table.
Realizing an entire mickie gang sat at the table, Gat’r slid into a spare seat. He glanced around him, quickly identifying the leader as the young woman who sat across from him.
“So, you’re Gat’r,” Shoya said, projecting authority.
Gat’r retracted his mask-helmet, grinned at the young woman, and said, “Yes, I am, and I’m pleased to meet the leader of this mickie gang.”
“That wasn’t a tough guess,” Shoya said, refusing to give Gat’r an opening. “What do you want?”
“That’s my question for you,” Gat’r replied. “What would you like?”
“A decent meal,” a mickie grumped.
“Nothing better?” Gat’r asked.
Shoya’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying that you can deliver whatever we want?”
“Don’t know that until you ask,” Gat’r replied.
Trigger, who was seated at the table’s end, jumped up and hurried to Shoya’s side. Then he cupped his hand to whisper privately to his leader.
“Trigger wants to know if you can get us cids,” Shoya asked. Her tone said that she was pleased to be able to challenge Gat’r with an impossible task.
“Not a problem,” Gat’r replied. “We can install them for you after you finish eating.”
“Sure, and I can walk outside the dome without a suit,” Shoya replied, folding her arms across her chest to indicate her disdain for Gat’r’s response.
Gat’r chose not to reply. He knew it would start an argument with the leader.
The mickie gang finished their food, and they exited the meal room. As Gat’r expected, the leader kept an eye on him to ensure that he didn’t follow the gang.
In the hall, Nalia, who Gat’r had called, lightly attached a tracker to Trigger, who stared at the visitor in wonder.
“Beautiful,” Trigger had murmured to Nalia.
When the mickies were out of sight, Nalia cued Gat’r, and he joined her. She shared the tracker signal, and the pair slowly followed the gang.
Several times, the signal began to fade, and Nalia and Gat’r hurried to close the distance.
When the signal abruptly dropped off, Gat’r sent to Nalia,
Immediately, Gat’r ran to a chute, jumped on it, and rode it downward. He passed two levels, before he picked up the tracker again. When Nalia joined him, they hurried after the signal’s fading strength. Within fifty meters, the tracker signal was gone for good.
Gat’r regarded the dimly lit tunnel and its rough walls.
Within a few minutes, Nalia’s acute hearing picked up the sound of young people on the other side of a metal door. She indicated the door to Gat’r with a thumb.
Rather than walk in, Gat’r chose to knock, but no one responded. Tired of waiting, Gat’r called out, “You asked for gifts, and I brought them.”
Gat’r didn’t need the SADE’s acute hearing to detect the argument that ensued in the storeroom. It went on for a while. Then Nalia sent a warbling horn blast. It imitated the warning sound of a mine collapse, and the door flew open.
“Out of our way,” the mickie leader ordered.
“Apologies,” Nalia said. “That was me.”
“A SADE,” a mickie said cautiously.
“Yes, I am,” Nalia replied. “Gat’r tells me that you want these.” She opened her hand to reveal tiny clear cases.
“Are those cids?” a mickie asked.
“Couldn’t be,” another mickie exclaimed. “It’s a trick.”
“I’ll take one,” Trigger volunteered, and he was immediately hushed.
“May we come inside?” Nalia asked politely.
Not wanting to miss out on the opportunity of their short lifetimes, Shoya urged her gang into the storeroom and left the two visitors in the corridor.
Gat’r sent glibly.
“How do we know those things you’re holding aren’t dangerous for us?” Shoya asked.
“Would a demonstration help?” Gat’r asked. “I could have one inserted in my other hand.”
“You’ve got a cid?” a mickie queried dubiously. “You’re supposed to be a mickie.”
“I’ve a cid, an implant to control my suit, apps to communicate without speaking, and a repaired arm and brain,” Gat’r enumerated. “You don’t have to live like this. We’re here to help.”
“Prove those things in the cases won’t hurt us,” Shoya demanded.
“Okay, but don’t freak,” Gat’r warned. Then he signaled Hephaestus to retire. The suit separated at the seams, reformed, walked to a corner, and sank down.
“Now I think I’ve seen everything,” a mickie murmured.
“Not even close,” Gat’r replied, standing comfortably in his unitard.
“You look fit enough,” a mickie said. It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. He was saying that Gat’r couldn’t be a mickie because he looked well-fed.
Nalia chose to slow her efforts so that the mickies could follow her actions.
Gat’r extended his free hand, and Nalia had quickly opened the skin, inserted the cid, and applied a smear of nanites medical gel.
“If that doesn’t suck vacuum,” a female mickie said breathlessly when she saw the wound close and then disappear.
“I want to see you operate a panel,” Shoya challenged.
“Your request has a flaw,” Nalia said. “As a SADE, I can circumvent the encryption of any of your devices.”
“Including comtech servers?” Trigger asked.
“Including them,” Nalia replied.
The mickies huddled and discussed the idea.
Then Shoya separated from the group. “Give me the one you received,” she said, pointing at Gat’r’s hand. “Then the two of you stay here, while I go test some panels.”
“A good idea,” Gat’r said, trying to give the leader a winning smile. Unfortunately, it didn’t ease the frown Shoya wore.
Nalia removed Gat’r’s newly implanted cid and disinfected it.
Then Shoya extended her hand. She was about to ask if it would hurt when she saw the wound heal. “That’s how fast a SADE can move?” she inquired with awe.
“This was a medical procedure. It required me to take my time,” Nalia replied, which astounded the mickies, who’d seen nothing but blurs from Nalia’s hands.
In quick order, Shoya was through the storeroom door. She ran down the corridor until she came to control panels. To her shock, the panels responded. She had a citizen’s cid.
When Shoya walked into the storeroom, she appeared confounded.
“Well?” the mickies urged.
“It works,” Shoya said, holding up her hand in wonder. “I’m a citizen.” She was surrounded by her gang, who cheered and hugged her.
When Shoya extricated herself from her gang, she approached Gat’r and extended her hand. “Apologies, Gat’r, for my poor reception. I’m Shoya.”
Gat’r stared into Shoya’s green eyes. The sincerity he saw made his heart flutter.
The moment was interrupted by the other mickies clamoring to be next to receive a cid from Nalia.
With a shrill whistle from Shoya, the mickies ordered a line based on the gang’s pecking order.
The place in line didn’t really matter. The entire gang was quickly implanted.
“We owe you, but what happens when the crats realize we have cids?” Shoya asked.
“You might say we’re the crats now,” Gat’r replied, grinning.
“An agreement has been made with Chairperson Dyehouse,” Nalia explained. “This mining planet is undergoing rehabilitation under our watch.”
The mickies, except for Shoya, stared open-mouthed at one another. She kept her eyes on Gat’r, and a slow smile lit her face. “So, the mickie became a crat,” she said, and Gat’r laughed.
“We do want something in return,” Gat’r said, and the light suddenly went out of Shoya’s eyes.
“What?” Shoya asked cautiously.
“We need you to promote the cids to other mickie gangs,” Gat’r requested.
“That’s it? That’s all you want?” Shoya inquired.
Gat’r was tempted to return a glib comment, but he was careful to keep his words neutral. “That’s what we need,” he said. “We’ve had difficulty contacting the other gangs.”
“I can imagine,” Shoya said.
“Shoya!” a mickie called out. “Do you realize that we can get a full tray of warm food from the meal room with these cids?”
Suddenly, the mickies were full of ideas about what they could get.
“Your elevation to full citizenship status will take time,” Nalia cautioned. “Remember, you don’t have a contract with Pure Pour. For the near future, this won’t matter, but, in time, you’ll probably be resettled on Naiad.”
“Then what happens to us?” Shoya inquired.
“That remains to be seen,” Nalia replied. “I imagine that you’ll have to attend classes to continue your education.”
“How do we live? Pay for a place and food?” an older mickie asked fearfully.
“Be calm, young one,” Nalia said soothingly. “You won’t be abandoned. Look at Gat’r. He’s been with us less than an annual.”
The mickies shifted their gazes from Nalia to Gat’r and back. Hope and doubt warred within their eyes.
The following evening, Gat’r and Nalia patrolled his assigned dome with Shoya. They were an odd-looking triplet. Shoya’s clothes were worn, stained, and ill-fitting. Gat’r wore Hephaestus, and Nalia was an exotic face above an outpost-blue uniform.
Shoya had an idea where two other mickie gangs were but not their exact locations.
Gat’r and Shoya entered a meal room, and they singled out a mickie gang. As expected, they were repulsed.
Then Nalia, who waited outside the hall, repeated her subterfuge with a tracker. She’d handed out more of the tiny devices to the other Alexander mickies to help them locate the gangs in their domes.
It was easy for Nalia and Gat’r to locate the second gang’s hideout.
After that, it was simple for Shoya to convince the leader to follow her. She triggered several panels for him.
Then the leader accepted a cid and repeated the test alone. Another mickie gang was implanted that night. The next night, the third gang received their cids.
The following night, Shoya was surprised to see Gat’r drop into a seat across from her in the meal room. Although, she couldn’t say she was unhappy to see him.
“There aren’t any more gangs in this dome,” Shoya pointed out.
“True,” Gat’r replied. He gazed down the table at the staring faces. “How’s the food?” he asked.
Responses were mumbled around mouthfuls. The mickies were enjoying trays full of hot, freshly prepared food.
“Feel like a trip tomorrow evening?” Gat’r asked Shoya.
“Me or all of us?” Shoya inquired.
“Wake up, Shoya, he’s inviting you, not us,” a female mickie said.
Suddenly, Shoya was embarrassed by the attention from her gang and Gat’r.
“Where do you want to take her?” the female mickie prodded.
“I can speak for myself,” Shoya retorted. Then she prompted Gat’r with a hand.
“I thought you might want to visit one of our ships above,” Gat’r offered.
“Oh, wow,” Trigger said breathlessly.
“Don’t have a suit,” Shoya replied.
“I’ll supply one,” Gat’r replied.
“I can’t go to your pretty ship wearing these clothes,” Shoya objected.
“I’ll get you something nice to wear,” Gat’r said.
“It would take too long,” Shoya tried again.
“Not the way we transport individuals,” Gat’r said. He waited for another objection, but Shoya remained quiet. “I tell you what,” he said when the silence continued. “I’ll meet you at your storeroom after you complete your day’s haul and before you eat. If you want to go, I’ll have everything you need.”
After Gat’r left, Shoya was hounded by questions and opinions. Finally, she hushed her gang and resumed eating.
For the next cycle, Shoya could think of nothing else but Gat’r’s offer. It both tempted and frightened her.
Two of the senior members of the gang took Shoya aside after the shift ended. It had been a good day for recovering valuable, old, worn parts to repair or recycle.
“You have to go,” the pair argued. “Think of it as reconnaissance. We need to know more about these visitors, and we sure aren’t going to get the information from the crats or Trigger’s antiquated computer.”
The argument convinced Shoya, and the gang left for a meal, leaving her behind.
When Gat’r arrived, he led her to a cubicle, which her cid opened. On the cot were clothes and boots that looked new.
“I hope these fit,” Shoya commented, “I wouldn’t want to appear in outsized clothes in front of your friends.”
“They’ll fit,” Gat’r assured her.
Shoya took the opportunity to use the facilities, which were a luxury for a mickie. The clothes did fit, as Gat’r promised, and she wondered how he’d accomplished that.
The pair traveled upward to the main corridor, took transport to the shuttleport, and descended through the engineering sublevel.
“Ever been outside?” Gat’r asked.
“Frequently,” Shoya remarked tartly. “I usually leave a suit or two somewhere around here.” Then she quickly added, “Sorry, sorry ... I’m a little nervous.”
“Understandable,” Gat’r replied, while he helped her into an environment suit.
When they cycled through the bay’s rotating airlock, Gat’r held Shoya’s arm as they crossed the pad to the waiting traveler.
To Shoya, it was a mesmerizing and whirlwind evening. She met the other Alexander mickies on the shuttle. The conversation was lively, and suddenly, Gat’r was telling her that they’d landed aboard the Nyslara.
Then there was the food. Shoya didn’t know food could smell and taste that good. All the while she ate and talked, she couldn’t believe the way she was treated. No one spoke down to her. She was regarded as an equal, even though she believed she wasn’t.
The tour of the ship astounded Shoya. Everything was clean and bright. Everything functioned as it should. She didn’t see one discarded item.
Perhaps, the most impressive feature was the garden. It amazed her that it would be found on a ship, and it said a great deal about those who inhabited the vessel.
Too soon, the evening ended for Shoya, and she returned planetside.
When Shoya emerged from the cubicle, she wore her old clothes, which Gat’r expected.
“Maybe you can find someone else who can wear those clothes,” Shoya lamely offered.
“I’ll save them for you,” Gat’r replied.
