Leland had been right. The ports had been traps. If they had tried to use the ship auto-dock system to attach themselves, the ports would have released their contents and destroyed them all. If they had tried to force entry? Same result. Destruction.
And if she’d stayed in Sol System, working a freighter, she’d never have had to see air locks crammed tight with explosives and the dead to carry them.
Leland had been the unlikely hero. He’d gone first, ponderously graceful, disguised as handsome in his Earther suit, and had punched in codes for the emergency hatch as well as the larger cargo doors. Codes only those on Hamilton Station would know. Codes a Thromberg Station bartender shouldn’t have known.
Why him? Why here?
They’d waited for Leland’s signal, Earthers and ’siders securing their cabled-together bags of gear and helpless, blinded passengers. Credit to the stationers—none had panicked, none had vomited until safely inside the station, helmets off. That had been the greatest risk for those who could see, who had to clear the contents of at least one air lock immediately to get the helpless inside.
Linda wasn’t sure if it been courage or disbelief that allowed her to keep going. She’d been humbly grateful to the ’siders who took what she passed outward with the presence of mind to tie everything together so nothing would float free and endanger the shuttle, only steps away.
So this was Hamilton Station. Linda couldn’t have told where she was now from the docking ring on Thromberg, save for a different, fresher taste to the air—and the silence.
She hadn’t realized how noisy the throngs packing the other, living station had been, how comforting the background drone of thousands could be. Until she’d come here, where fifty-or-so huddled close, to make themselves feel like more.
Hamilton was messier. The stationers talked about this between themselves, uneasy.
Linda remembered Thromberg as having a broken-in look—everything possible being used and reused. Nothing wasted. Hamilton? No one had lived here. She felt gorge rising again in her throat and forced it down. They’d existed, long enough for destruction and fear. Not long enough to fit pieces together and keep going.
Perhaps goaded by similar thoughts, the stationers began moving. Linda was startled when a hand pressed something into hers—one of the metal strips. ’Dibs. She looked up and met the understanding eyes of the small, dark-haired woman she’d met in the shuttle, Annette Bijou. “Our turn, now,” Annette said. “There’s work to do. You rest a while.”
Linda closed her fingers over the strip and stood, taking a deep breath. “What next?” she asked. Pavel slid upright beside her.
A keen look, then a nod. “Some are going to the ’vironment monitors, others to hydroponics. Dave and I are going to start checking the inward levels for working space and assess supplies. You’re welcome to come with us.”
“Aren’t you—aren’t you—” Linda had trouble with the words.
“—looking for survivors?” Annette finished for her. “You don’t understand what happened here, do you?”
“And you do?” Linda knew her voice was incredulous and overly loud, but none of the others took offense.
“They feared the Quill,” a deeper, more resonant voice answered. Leland and his shadow, Pettersen, were back from wherever they’d gone. The stationers clustered around to listen; Linda found the contact of strangers’ shoulders oddly comforting.
“Everyone feared the Quill,” Pavel protested. “Thromberg did—and you survived. You were the same—”
Pettersen shook his head, tight-lipped. As usual, it was Leland who spoke. “We survived because we didn’t close our ports, because we allowed ships to bring supplies and medicine.” The stationer paused, then put his hand on Pettersen’s thin shoulder. “We survived because people eventually took the chance those returning to us didn’t bring the Quill.”
Linda realized what she should have seen when on Hamilton’s hull. “No ’siders. No ships at all.”
“Ships fled here,” Pettersen said at last. “Com logs say so. But Hamilton feared the Quill so much, station personnel laid mines to destroy any ship that approached. After that?
Maybe they feared reprisals as well as the Quill, so more mines. Which meant no ships.
No help. As they starved… as disease overwhelmed them… they put their dead on guard as well. Outside. In the ’locks. Until the last of them sealed him or herself within.”
Leland sighed, deep and heavy. “We had our troubles, on Thromberg. Did things to regret.” A flash of pain crossed his face. “Unforgivable things. But we didn’t hide like this, we didn’t cut ourselves off from humanity.” His bulk shuddered, once, then he straightened. “Or stand around moaning about what’s done and gone,” he added sharply.
With that, the crowd began to dissolve, people picking up bags and gathering into small groups of four or five, heading in different directions.
Annette lingered. “How’d you know the codes, Sammie?” she asked quietly.
The stationer scowled, a ferocious distortion on that face, but Annette didn’t appear impressed. “How?” she repeated. “It saved us. Grateful for that. But people don’t want secrets at the start, Sammie. You know I’m right.”
“Come with me, then,” he growled, and walked away, heading for the nearest lifts.
Linda found herself alone with Pavel. “Are you returning to the shuttle?” she asked.
Pavel shook his head. “They’re going to start clearing the other “locks,” he said grimly.
“I’d better get outside.” He hesitated, looking after Leland. “Go with him, Linda. The captain will want to know what’s going on.”
Dave knew the Earther woman followed them. Likely suspecting conspiracy or worse, he decided, noticing she kept a few steps back. Same old stuff. He tried, but couldn’t rouse anger. The reality of how fragile Thromberg’s peace had really been, how near to sharing Hamilton’s fate they’d come—if they hadn’t found a way to live with the ’siders, with each other, even with Earth? It wouldn’t have taken the Quill to kill them.
Sammie stopped without warning. Dave, right behind, had to lurch not to run into the other man’s back. He looked around hurriedly, as did the others, seeking danger, expecting ghosts.
And found one.
There was a sign, half-melted into the wall. The words on it were underlined by a ragged scorching. “Leland Interplanetary Travel Services, Inc.” Below, in small, clear text:
“Book a visit from that special someone today!”
They turned to him.
“My company,” Sammie acknowledged so softly it almost disguised the tremor in his voice. “I knew the entry codes because I started the franchise here, on Hamilton Station.”
“Franchise?” Annette asked, as if compelled. “There were more?”
He nodded. “Gave this one to my eldest boy, Henry, before moving to Thromberg.
Henry was doing well—brought his family. Wife, three little girls.” A pause. No one breathed. “I started a franchise on every station. I believed our future was out here, in space. This was my way of keeping us together.”
“All family?” Dave tried to comprehend the scale of such loss and failed. Sammie had aimed enough close kin at Thromberg’s sun to ice a heart. But this?
The heavy brows knotted. “Not all by blood. A cousin on Wye Station. An aunt on Pfefferlaws. Three nephews, on Hamble, Osari, Ricsus. The rest were—friends. People who followed my vision. Me.” Sammie’s eyes hadn’t left the sign.
The Earther, Linda, almost reached out her hand; the intention was written in a shift of posture, quickly contained. “People followed you today, Mr. Leland. Sammie. Because of you, we are still alive and have a future.”