God, I’d almost welcome a catastrophe!
Boredom had an actual physical sensation, something like a low-order tension headache combined with indigestion and sleepiness. It was like a cold—it made you feel stupid and lethargic without actually crippling you. Just being in space wasn’t all that thrilling, once you’d been here for a while. The endless shiny whitish beige of the corridors and compartments, the recycled antiseptic cleanliness of the air and everything else, seeing the same people every day— unless you were doing something unusual, it was far too much like being imprisoned in a submarine. Granted the view was better, but a good holo could give you something so close you couldn’t tell the difference.
The tourists she guided were carefully steered away from the station’s real functions—where her interest lay—and were enthusiastically encouraged to visit and stay in the civilian entertainment and medical areas, which most preferred to do anyway. That was like New Disney World, only with low gravity.
A little more than half the station was devoted to civilian pursuits. That half paid for a lot of the rest of the station. There, travelers were offered the ultimate in luxury accommodations, food, and drink. Live entertainment by the best and most popular actors, singers, and comedians on Earth in every language and culture was available. Plus unique attractions like zero G ballet and “flying” with strapped-on wings.
There was also what Lereesa called, to herself and her friends, high-end sleaze. What some unkindly referred to as “hot and cold running whores.” The station had its own laws about recreational chemicals, too—and they could be enforced, in this antiseptic environment. And good old-fashioned gambling was offered in elegant surroundings reminiscent of a time when the rich were safely separated from the hoi polloi by the simple expedient of being somewhere ordinary people couldn’t afford to be.
“I couldn’t afford to be here,” she muttered. “When everyone can afford to go to Monte Carlo, Monte Carlo goes to space.”
She couldn’t afford a drink of water in those places. Even the charge for air was higher in the big clubs. Not that she had to worry about the air charge; that was the tourists’ concern.
Sometimes all Lereesa could think about was escape. Just a day away from here, where I could see blue sky, feel a breeze, a rainstorm, see a bug! It wasn’t until you’d left Earth that you realized how much everything there changed from day to day.
“I know I won’t break down. The psych tests said so. Unfortunately!”
And the station was safe. Zero tolerance described a generous policy next to the station’s attitude. This wasn’t the Wild West; management controlled everything.
As she waited for her party, Lereesa switched the viewport beside her to an Earth view; there weren’t any actual viewports in the long domed corridor of the passenger shuttle dock. She sighed again and activated the notebook computer that was part of her uniform sleeve to check the names of her new charges one more time. Ms. Lorraine Tosca, a high school science teacher and her four: Gina Mancuso, Russell Moore, Christine Wu, and Greg Baca. High school kids.
Lereesa had actually groaned when she pulled this assignment. These kids would be seeing parts of the station that most tourists weren’t even remotely interested in, and would rarely be allowed to visit even if they were. They’d be wandering through the guts of the station and they’d even be allowed onto the original station, preserved in the center of the ring. The places she’d have liked to visit—on her own.
The kids were here on a special scholarship, so she supposed she could expect a certain degree of decorum. Meaning perhaps they wouldn’t try to duck out of the tour to catch some of the action in the adult entertainment section. I hope. The only thing worse than being bored by the tourists was having them do something so reckless it would stop your heart. And who better to do that, Lereesa thought, than teenagers?
A couple of handlers came along and said hello as they stationed themselves on either side of the white-coated hatch. One of their jobs was to assist passengers from the zero G of the shuttle to the station’s near-Earth-normal gravity. After so many months she knew them both well.
“I guess this has been one of those hell trips,” Pete said with a grin.
Lereesa raised her brows.
“Some kid puked his guts out all the way up, I hear,” he said. “Apparently, he sparked off an orgy of upchucking.”
“The head stewardess said they’d have to fumigate the shuttle before it could be used again,” said the other handler.
Oh, boy, she thought, her heart sinking. Please let it be somebody else’s kid.
The hatch opened with a hydraulic hiss and passengers began to disembark, along with a faint sour odor, despite the best the airscrubbers could do.
First out was a black youth who was an interesting grayish-green shade. He staggered and almost fell, but the handlers kept a grip on him until they were sure he was steady. The kid lurched to the bulkhead opposite and leaned his forehead against it, swallowing and wiping at the clammy sweat on his face. Active misery made him look younger than he was, and Lereesa felt a stir of compassion.
This was Russell Moore, one of her guests. He was followed by an anxious-looking woman of about twenty-five; olive-skinned, with a curved nose and intelligent dark eyes. Lorraine Tosca, the chaperone. The other three members of Lereesa’s group followed rapidly, looking both bored and shell-shocked, something she was sure only teenagers could manage.
“Hello,” she said to the teacher. “I’m your guide, Lereesa Norton. We can take Russell down to the clinic if you like, to see if he needs to be rehydrated.”
“Lorraine,” the woman said. “Tosca. That might be a good idea. He’s had rather a rough trip.”
Other passengers filed by, casting resentful glances at the group.
“It wouldn’t have been so bad,” a pale Christine Wu muttered, “if he hadn’t been so loud.”
“It wouldn’t have been so bad,” Greg Baca returned, “if he hadn’t started out by boasting how his astronaut uncle had never been sick once in space, and how he was looking forward to seeing us puke our guts out.”
“Well, he sure got to see that,” Gina Mancuso said with a grimace.
“How’m I gonna get home?” Russell asked with real horror.
Ms. Tosca blinked.
“It might not happen again,” Lereesa reassured him. “Or if you do get sick it might not be as severe. Try not to think about it,” she suggested. “Why borrow trouble?”
“Yeah, maybe it was a fluke,” Gina said.
Russell slid down the wall and rested his head on his knees. “I’ve got a headache,” he complained quietly.
“Then he probably does need to be rehydrated,” Lereesa said to Ms. Tosca.
The teacher rose from Russell’s side and nodded. “Okay. Why don’t you escort us down to the clinic, then you can take the kids to their rooms. We haven’t got anything scheduled tonight but settling in and a quiet din…”
“I know,” Lereesa said with a smile. “I’ve got your schedule.”
“Of course. What about our bags?” Ms. Tosca asked distractedly.
“They’ll be delivered to your quarters,” Lereesa assured her. After they’re thoroughly inspected.
There were more than a few fanatical groups who would love to blow up what they called the “Babylon of the sky.” Since there was no easy way to determine who might be a member of said fanatical groups, everything that came aboard was checked and rechecked for possible weapons or explosives. And since most of their guests had to be handled delicately, the station simply pretended that delivering their bags to their quarters was for their convenience instead of for security. A pleasant fiction that everyone conspired to accept.