“Well, there goes my afternoon,” Jenks said.
“Rosemary, everybody’s got their chips, right?”
“Right,” Rosemary said. “And everyone should have a list of approved expenses on their scribs, just for reference.”
“Good. Once you’ve knocked everything off your list, you’re free to do whatever you fancy until morning. Let’s try to be on our way by tenth hour.” His scrib pinged, indicating he had a new message. “Sorry, just a sec.” He pulled his scrib out from his satchel and gestured at the screen. The message appeared.
Received message
Encryption: 3
Translation: 0
From: Unknown sender (encrypted)
Ashby’s heart skipped.
I couldn’t help but notice a hideous tunneling rig that just docked in orbit. I’m back from the border, but heading back out soon. In three hours, I’ll officially be on two days of shore leave. I’ve already made it clear that I’m taking some alone time. Are you free to share it with me?
No signature, but Ashby didn’t need one. The message was from Pei. She was here. And most importantly, she was okay. She was alive.
Even though he could feel tendays of tension leaking away, Ashby managed to remain nonchalant. He placed his scrib back in his satchel and rubbed his hand over his chin. Shit. He hadn’t shaved. Ah, well. Pei was a cargo runner. Even though her species lacked hair, she of all people could understand a lapse in personal grooming.
Sissix was eying him as he turned back to the group. He raised his eyebrows at her, then put his captain face on. “Well, what are you all waiting for? Go buy stuff.”
Rosemary hurried after her crewmates, anxious to not get lost. The shuttle dock had been crowded enough, but now that they were weaving their way through the market gates, the likelihood of her getting swept away in a sea of traders had increased. Getting lost wasn’t what scared her, exactly. It was more the prospect of getting mugged. Or harassed. Or stabbed. She’d seen a few people that definitely looked stabby. And weren’t wristpatch thieves a thing in places like this? Hadn’t she heard a story about someone who had visited Port Coriol, wandered their way into the wrong shop, and woken up in an alley with their patch arm amputated? Okay, maybe that was a little far fetched, but given that she’d just walked past an Aeluon whose entire face was a mosaic of implants, she wasn’t ready to rule out the possibility of arm-stealing patch thieves just yet. She was grateful to be with Sissix, whose presence was reassuring, and Kizzy, who was probably loud enough—both in volume and clothing—to deter stealthier criminals. They both looked like people who knew what they were doing. She hoped some of that might rub off on her.
“You sure you don’t want to go to the tech caves, Kiz?” Sissix asked.
“Nah,” said Kizzy. “Jenks has my list. I’ll pop in later to say some hellos and ogle the gizmos. But I’m all space-twitchy. I need open sky and fresh air.” She threw her arms wide and inhaled dramatically. “Ahhhhhh.”
“Mmm. Yeah. Fresh air,” Sissix said, huffing through her breathing mask.
“You know the feeling, right, Rosemary?” Kizzy bounced over to her. “You grew up planetside.”
“It’s nice having real gravity,” Rosemary said.
“Aww, have you been spacesick?”
“Just a little around the edges. But it’s no trouble, I’m getting used to it.”
“We’ll look around for balance bracelets. I’m sure somebody’s selling them.”
Sissix scoffed with amusement. “Those things are such a scam.”
“Are not,” Kizzy said. “My grandma, she wears ’em every time she goes up and she says they work like awesome.”
“Your grandma also thinks she can talk to her imubots.”
“Okay, yeah, but she never gets spacesi—oh, shit.” Kizzy looked down at her boots. “Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact.”
Rosemary averted her eyes once she saw the source of Kizzy’s panic: a simple, friendly table, covered with sealed terrariums and clay (clay!) bowls filled with info chips. Such tables were a common sight in the public squares of Florence, and the outfits of the table’s keepers were instantly recognizable. They wore heavy biosuits, like ancient Lunar explorers, sealed and padded to a degree that made Corbin’s helmet look almost sensible. Rosemary had heard that their used suits were placed into sealed containers and shot into space. Standard decontamination processes weren’t enough for them. There could be no risk of corrupting their immune systems—or worse, the natural flow of Human evolution.
Gaiists. They certainly were their own brand of crazy.
“Shit,” Kizzy said. “I made eye contact.”
“Nice job, Kiz,” Sissix said.
“I didn’t mean to!”
A Gaiist man beelined for them, cupping a round terrarium in his gloved hands. “Hello, sisters,” he said. A small vox below the suit’s faceplate transmitted his voice. His Klip was good but heavily accented, full of imprecise consonants that hinted at a lack of regular use. “Would you like to see one of the small wonders of your mother planet?” He held the terrarium out to Kizzy and Rosemary, ignoring Sissix altogether.
Rosemary mumbled a “no, thanks.” Kizzy babbled about being “late for a thing.”
“I’d like to see it,” Sissix said.
The Gaiist man’s face went stony within his helmet. With a strained smile, he held up the terrarium. Behind the plex, a complicated yellow flower sprung up from a cradle of moss. “This is an orchid,” he said, the foreign word jutting oddly into the surrounding Klip. “A delicate plant that once grew in Earthen swamps and rainforests. Like much of Earth’s diverse flora, these beautiful flowers went extinct in the wild during the Collapse.” His eyes kept darting between Kizzy and Rosemary, anxious to see them take interest. “Thanks to the efforts of our hardworking folks back home, orchids have successfully taken root in a few restored rainforests.”
“It’s beautiful,” Sissix said. She sounded like she meant it. She pointed at the flower and turned her head to her companions. “Your genitals look kind of like this, right?”
Kizzy burst out laughing. Rosemary felt her cheeks flush.
“Hey, I have a question,” Sissix said, addressing the now-stammering Gaiist. She reached out to touch the terrarium. Within his suit, the Gaiist recoiled at the sight of alien claws hovering over Earthen moss. “The scientists in the Samsara Project, do they work with orr-kids, too?”
The Gaiist frowned. “They may,” he said thinly. “But one cannot have much success with dirt if one lives with his feet in the sky.” A hint of piousness crept into his friendly tone.
Rosemary almost felt sorry for the Gaiist. Sissix was baiting him, trying to make him drop the nature lesson pretense and come out swinging with the tenets of Gaian Purism. On the surface, the Gaiist goal of healing their species’ barely habitable homeworld was a noble one. But this was the same goal shared by the scientists of the Samsara Project, who lived in the silvery orbital ring that encircled Earth—a ring built not by Humans, but by philanthropic Aeluons and Aandrisks. And though restoration efforts on the ring were headed by Humans, many scientists working alongside them were from other worlds. Die-hard Gaiists—especially the kind who braved shuttle docks in search of lost souls—hated that.