wall in zero gravity. Lem soaked it all in, feeling at home for the first time in a while. He didn’t belong in space. He belonged in a city, where the energy was palpable and the sights and sounds and smells were always changing.
They found a woman in the marketplace selling men’s work clothes, and Lem bought nearly everything she had. Podolski and the two security guards might be on the weigh station for a while, and Lem thought it would be better for them to blend in and dress like free miners. He didn’t know if the clothes would fit perfectly, but since no one at the weigh station had any concern for fashion and all the clothes were baggy anyway, Lem didn’t think it mattered.
He paid the woman a large tip to deliver the clothes to the ship, and when the woman, who had a young boy with her, saw the sum of money in her hand, she was so overwhelmed with gratitude that she teared up and kissed Lem’s hand. Lem could see that she was poor and that the child was hungry, so he gave her another large bill before sending her on her way.
“You getting soft on me?” asked Chubs.
“It looked like she had sewn the clothes herself,” said Lem, shrugging. “Work like that should be paid well.”
Chubs smiled as if he knew better.
They found a shoemaker next. Lem guessed at Podolski’s and the security guard’s boot sizes and then argued with the man about the prices. When they left, after the purchases were made, Chubs laughed. “I think you were trying to overcompensate for being nice to that woman,” he said. “You took that shoemaker for a ride.”
“He was trying to cheat us,” said Lem.
“We could probably go back and find that woman,” said Chubs, teasing. “Your father would be thrilled for you to come home with a bride.”
Lem laughed. “Yes, my father would love a peasant free miner as a daughter-in-law. Especially one with a child. Father would be tickled pink.”
They entered the food court area, where a dozen aromas assaulted them at once: pastries, pastas, breads, stews, even a few cooked meats, though these were exorbitantly expensive. They ran into Benyawe, and the three of them took a standing countertop at a Thai restaurant. It wasn’t big enough in Lem’s opinion to call itself a restaurant-there was only room for six people at the most-but Lem preferred the privacy.
Late in the meal Chubs raised his bottle. “To our captain, Mr. Lem Jukes, who salvaged our mission and turned a profit in the process.”
Benyawe raised her bottle and joined the toast, but she didn’t seem particularly agreeable to it.
“You shouldn’t toast me,” said Lem. “Our real thanks goes to the lovely Dr. Benyawe here, who tirelessly prepped the laser and conducted our field tests with aplomb. Without her brilliance, perseverance, and patience with her hot-tempered captain, we’d still be shooting pebbles out of the sky.”
“To Dr. Benyawe,” said Chubs.
Benyawe smiled at Lem. “Toasting me doesn’t make you any more tolerable,” she said.
“Of course not,” said Lem. “I barely tolerate myself.”
“And we would be wise to remember that our mission isn’t over until we return to Luna,” said Benyawe. “We’re months behind schedule, and there are many on the board who no doubt have written this mission off as a cataclysmic failure.”
Chub’s smile faded.
“I’m not trying to spoil our evening,” said Benyawe. “I’m merely reminding us all that we’re still a long way from home.”
“She’s right,” said Lem. “Perhaps we’re a little premature in our celebrations.” He raised his glass again. “Still, I’ll toast Benyawe again for being such a wise counselor and an expert party pooper.”
“Hear, hear,” said Chubs, raising his bottle.
Benyawe raised her own bottle and smiled.
“Lem Jukes.” The words came from the doorway.
Lem and the others turned to the entrance and saw a mountain of a man standing at the threshold. He was flanked by three other men, all rugged and dirty and not the least bit friendly looking.
“So you are Lem Jukes,” said the big man. “Mr. Lem Jukes himself. Son of the great Ukko Jukes, the richest man in the solar system. We’re practically in the presence of royalty.”
His three friends smiled.
“Can I do something for you, friend?” said Lem.
The man stepped into the room, ducking his head through the door frame as he entered. “I am Verbatov, Mr. Jukes. And we are not friends. Far from it.”
“What grievance do you have with me, Mr. Verbatov?”
“My friends and I were part of a Bulgarian clan working the Asteroid Belt four years back. Nine families in all. A Juke vessel took our claim and crippled our ship. Our family had no choice but to break up. Each of us went our separate ways, working what ships would take us on. The way I see it, Juke Limited owes us for damages. The value of our ship and all the hell we’ve been through since.”
A silence followed. Lem glanced at Chubs and chose his words carefully. “You were done an injustice, sir. And for that I am sorry. But your fight isn’t with me. We aren’t the people who took your claim or damaged your ship.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Verbatov. “You’re Juke Limited. The son of the president. You represent the company.”
“Our lawyers represent the company,” said Lem. “I’m about as far down the chain of command as you can get. If you have issue with how you’ve been treated, I suggest you take it to the courts.”
Verbatov laughed. “The courts near Mars or Luna, you mean? Billions of klicks from here? No. I’ll take an out-of-court settlement, thank you. And don’t bother telling me you don’t have the cash. I have it on good authority that you just came into a bit of money and have a sizable load on your ship.”
“Staggar is a friend of yours, I take it,” said Lem.
Verbatov smiled.
“What’s the agreement you two have?” asked Lem. “You get back his money for him, and he gives you a cut? I find that surprising, Mr. Verbatov. You don’t seem like the type of person who gives back much of anything.”
Verbatov chuckled. “Am I that transparent, Mr. Jukes?”
“You are indeed,” said Lem.
“Pay us what we rightly deserve,” said the man.
“The money isn’t mine to give,” said Lem. “It belongs to Juke Limited.”
“Which owes us,” said the man.
“Write a complaint,” said Chubs. “We’ll see that it gets to the right people.”
Verbatov’s smile faded. He motioned to one of his men behind him. “You’ll pay us what is rightfully ours, Mr. Jukes, or we’ll be forced to have more conversations with your crew.”
One of Verbatov’s men entered, pulling a weightless body behind him. It was Dr. Dublin. His face was bloody and swollen, but he was alive.
“Richard!” said Dr. Benyawe, starting to move to him.
Chubs grabbed Benyawe’s arm, stopping her.
Dr. Dublin looked dazed, unaware of his surroundings.
“Dr. Dublin has been quite the chatterbox,” said Verbatov. “He told us all about this gravity laser you have on your ship. Turns rock into powder, he says. Very fascinating. Sounds like an entirely new way to mine rock. My brothers and I would appreciate a gift like that. That ought to cover our damages if Dr. Dublin was telling the truth, which I suspect he was, considering he broke a few of his fingers in the process.”
Lem said nothing.
Verbatov looked down at Dublin and patted the man’s head, gently pushing Dublin’s floating body down toward the floor. “Unless you and I reach an agreement, Mr. Jukes, Dr. Dublin may accidentally break his legs as well.”
The dart struck Verbatov in the throat, and for a moment Lem didn’t know what was happening. There was a series of pops, and the men with Verbatov each slightly recoiled as darts buried into their chests, faces, or throats. Lem was confused until Chubs launched from the table toward the door, the weapon in his hand. Chubs pushed past
