“Consequences?”
“You name your boy Strawberry and there’s going to be consequences.”
Dr. Potter opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you, Able? You’re pulling my…”
The klaxon’s sudden bellow clamped his hands to the arms of his seat, his helmet floating out to the end of its tether.
Able glanced down at her cuff, then reached out, hooked a gloved finger around the cable, and tugged it back. “They’re warning us they’re about to hit the brakes, start decelerating.”
His ears scarlet, Dr. Porter clutched the helmet so tightly his gloves squeaked against the plastic.
“Pilot knows it’s your first time out. Knows people have been feeding you bullshit stories since you blew off Earth. Probably hit the klaxon trying to get you to piss yourself.”
Embarrassment rose off the psychologist in nearly visible waves.
“Don’t worry, the suit’ll take care of it. I knew a guy once, had the shits all the way from L5 Alpha to Darkside. Suit took care of it.” Able closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until the shuttle kissed its assigned nipple on the docking ring and the “all clear” sounded.
By the time Dr. Porter had fumbled free of his straps, the hatch was open and the dockers were barely controlling their anger as they waited to start unloading. Able snagged her carryall from behind her seat and followed him to the bottom of the ramp, arriving just in time to keep him from being flattened by a wagon piled high with containers from the aft compartment.
“They’re on tracks,” she yelled, leaning closer to make herself heard over the noise. “You get in front of them, they’ll squash you flat. I knew a guy once, lost a foot under one. Crashed too bad to be reattached.”
The doctor’s cheeks paled, his embarrassment forgotten. “What happened to him?”
“Got himself a whole bunch of prosthetics. Got one with a full entertainment unit in it.”
“In his foot?”
Able shrugged. “Takes all kinds.”
She slipped between two wagons and headed for a set of metal stairs against the starboard wall. The doctor trailed behind.
“There should be someone here to meet me,” he shouted as they climbed.
“There is, back behind that glass.”
At the top of the stairs was a wire-enclosed catwalk. At the end of the catwalk, a platform. In the wall overlooking the platform, two hatches. Between the hatches was a mirrored window.
“There’s no way you can know who’s back there, Able.” Safely above the wagons, he regained his professional voice.
“Presence of suits kept the dockers from hauling your ass out of the shuttle. Only place the suits could be is behind that glass. They’re not going to be out here in the nipple risking a seal rupture. I knew a guy once, got sucked through a seal rupture and ended up in a low Mars orbit.” When no question prodded her to continue, she grinned. “Bounce satellite signals off him now. This is your exit.” She nodded toward the right as they clanged out onto the platform.
Dr. Porter stared at the hatches. Aside from the varying wear and tear, they were identical. “How can you tell?”
“Company policy; suits are always right. We’re what’s left.”
He stared at her for a long moment, he glanced toward the mirrored glass, then he held out his hand. “I appreciate you making the effort to distract me, Able. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”
“Could happen. It’s a small station in a big universe.” His grip was a little too emphatic. A young man with something to prove.
Don’t need to prove it to me. Her grip matched his exactly.
EVS in a temporary locker, Able took a moment to watch the Company news on the small vid in lock. Possible layoffs. Cutbacks. Accidents. Price freezes. One hundred percent bad. She sighed, scanned her chip into the station’s database, stepped through the inner hatch, and went looking for the Quartermaster’s Office. QMO was never far from the docks so she expected to have no trouble finding it. And the yelling was pretty much a dead giveaway.
“I don’t freakin’ care what the invoice says, my people unloaded sixteen crates of seven dash seven three two not seventeen.” Hands planted firmly on the desk, the quartermaster leaned closer to the pickup and went for volume. “You short-shipped us, you bastard! For the second goddamned time!” Then she straightened, flipped pale blonde hair back from her face, and smiled across the room at Able. “Jesus, Able, what’d you do? Hijack a military transport?”
Able stepped over the threshold and shrugged. “Just made all the right connections.”
“Just? You broke the freakin’ Phoebus to GaMO speed record. And who told you lot to god-damned stop working?” she snapped, as the four clerks along one side of the room turned to look. “I can’t say I’m not glad to see you, though, situation’s been going to freakin’ hell in a handcart since Rich Webster died. Asshole. I close the place down, the riggers riot. I open the place up, the riggers get drunk and riot. The fitters are talking freakin’ union again and that’s got the suits on my ass. Whole god-damned place is falling a…” The desk receiver chimed. “Hang on a nano, Able. I need to get this.”
“I’m sorry, Quartermaster Nasjonal, but our packing orders clearly show that all seventeen crates were loaded. I suggest that you take the matter up with the transfer supervisor on Io.”
“PJ’s got more freakin’ brains than to screw with me! Now get your thumb out of your ass, get Yuen on this thing, and stop wasting my god-damned time!” Shaking her head, she dropped down into the desk chair. “Freakin’ distance delays make it impossible to hold a conversation. You’ve got standard quarters behind the bar. You got six servers, burnouts for the most part—I think Webster was paying at least one of them in booze.”
“I won’t.”
“I know. I’m the one who asked you to drag your ass out to the armpit of the universe, remember? Usual drill. Company expects you to turn a profit and keep the workers happy. You should be fully stocked, I’ve kept supplies coming in during this whole freakin’ mess. And… Jonathon!”
One of the clerks jerked and peered over the top of his monitor.
“Where’s my freakin’ ass-Quart?”
“He’s at 07, Quartermaster. Supervising the loading…”
“Right. Okay, you take Able to the Hole.”
“But…”
“Quartermaster Nasjonal, Supervisor Yuen is not currently available. Would you be able to call back after 1700 hours?”
“Tell Yuen I’m about to start talking about what happened last December. And if that doesn’t haul his skinny ass to a pickup, nothing will,” she added, sitting back in the chair. “I’ll be down to see you as soon as I get this freakin’ short ship straightened out. Jonathon!”
He jerked again, the movement propelling him out from behind his terminal.
“Go!”
Able paused on the threshold, allowing Jonathon to proceed her into the corridor. “Always a pleasure talking to you, Quartermaster Nasjonal.”
The quartermaster grinned. “Suck up.”
Jonathon was waiting an arm’s length away, nervously clutching his hands together in front of his belt.
“Do you know where the Hole is?” Able’s tone made it clear she very much doubted it.
He flushed. “Yes, theoretically, but I’ve never… I mean…”
“It’s downside. You drink amid.” She slung her carryall over one shoulder, and started to walk.
“Not that I…” His protest trailed off as he hurried to catch up. “It’s just, it’s…”
“Downside?” When he nodded, Able snorted. “Tell you what, take me to lower amid and the nearest shaft, give me decent directions, and I’ll cover downside myself. We won’t mention it to the quartermaster.”