Rhea reached into the crate and retrieved the small sack that belonged to her. It contained the clothing she’d brought along for the journey. As usual, she couldn’t help but wonder at how light the sack seemed: it was like she carried a bag full of paper.
Horatio and Will grabbed their salvagers’ backpacks—they never went anywhere without them apparently.
“You may change out of your spacesuits here,” the hologram said.
Several blue outlines flashed around a series of doors beside the counter, still within the area guarded by the robots.
“If your suits are rentals, please deposit them into the litter for repurposing,” the hologram added.
Rhea, Horatio and Will entered different change rooms. Rhea shut the door behind her. There was a box labeled “suit repurposing” sitting on the floor next to a bench. She stripped off the suit and dropped the different assemblies into the waiting box. She hopped on one foot as she removed the lower assembly, and nearly leaped into the ceiling as she did so.
Mind the lower gravity, Rhea…
She was still wearing her flight outfit beneath the suit, but she took off that too, momentarily revealing her metallic body. She opted for some fresh clothing from her sack of belongings, and then emerged.
Will and Horatio were already waiting. As was Targon, though his spacesuit remained on his body.
Targon shook her hand with his gloved version. “Good luck, my young Warden. I hope ye find whatever it is you’re looking for here.”
“Thank you,” Rhea told him. “I hope I do, too. I won’t forget this.”
“Remember me offer,” Targon said. “I’ll fly ye back, if ye need.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rhea said.
Targon turned from her to pat Will on the shoulder. “And wash that hair!”
Will merely scowled at the man.
Targon gave her a wink, then he retreated. He bounced through another entrance that was still inside customs and vanished from view.
“Our scans detected mild radiation poisoning in the ones named Rhea and Will,” the holographic woman said. “Please wait for treatment.”
A few uneventful moments ticked passed.
“How long do you think they’re going to make us wait?” Will asked.
Just as the words left his mouth, a sliding door shoved open and a medical robot approached—essentially an injector on wheels. The trolley stopped next to Rhea, and one of the telescoping limbs came forward.
“Please turn around,” the robot intoned.
Rhea did so, and she lifted her hair with both hands to reveal the quick injection port at the back of her head. The injector made contact, and she felt the surge as a stream of liquid traveled into her brain case. It disconnected a moment later, and she lowered her arms. She felt no different.
Will received an injection as well, but the robot also wrapped a patch around his bicep.
“Wear this for three days,” the robot instructed him.
“You got it, Machine Man,” Will told the robot.
“You are free to go,” the holographic woman announced cheerfully.
“Wait,” Rhea said.
The woman stared at her, smiling expectantly.
“Am I correct in assuming you’re part of the central AI that runs this colony?” Rhea asked.
“That would be correct,” the woman replied, still grinning.
“Could you personally notify me whenever a new ship arrives?” she said.
“There are sites available that list all flights between planets, along with their predicted arrival times, you know this, correct?” the woman said. “All vessels must publish their flight plans when leaving the orbit of any celestial body, as required by interplanetary law.”
“Yes, but this person would be unscheduled,” Rhea said. “And he’d come up with some sort of excuse as to why he deviated from his published flight plan. A fuel leak or something.”
The woman seemed to consider for a moment. Then: “Interesting. Yes, I can do that for you. Is there anyone in particular you are looking for?”
“No,” Rhea said. “I just want to be informed. It is public knowledge, is it not?”
“It certainly is,” the hologram agreed. “Though the passenger manifests are not.”
“I didn’t expect they would be,” Rhea said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” the woman told her.
Rhea and her two companions bound-walked underneath one of the menacing-looking turrets that hung from the ceiling, passed the two guard robots, and entered the main terminal.
As she passed the robots, she lifted the hood of her cloak, hiding her face. She did it more out of habit than caution, though admittedly a part of her still worried that someone would try to assassinate her even here.
The area was empty save for loading robots, which carried crates and pallets across the floor toward different hatches in the wall. She supposed the robots had pre-cleared customs, because they skipped the “Departures” area—a closed off section located on the farthest side of the terminal, labeled in green by the augmentations of her HUD.
A large EXIT overlay was digitally written above a pair of glass doors nearby. She approached those doors, which opened automatically when she was only a few meters away. Filled with nervous excitement, she bound-stepped through into the city beyond.
When she emerged, she was immediately hit by how cold it was outside. She realized now that the terminal building had been heated. Out here, it was at least minus twenty, if not colder.
As she surveyed the scene before her, she felt a pang of disappointment. It was nothing like the beach scene she’d overlaid onto the walls of the cargo bay of course. She was expecting that. And yet, somehow, what she did see seemed so much lesser than what she had envisioned.
That’s what happens when I build my expectations on staged, touched-up photos taken in perfect lighting.
Even so, she had to give the architects some credit. The buildings immediately beyond the terminal were a visual delight, constructed as they were in the baroque fashion of ancient Europe.
Just like the Europans to model ancient Europe, she thought.
The details were ornate, and extravagant in style. Entablatures, frescoes and arcades were common on the front facades of the buildings. Friezes and cornices were often exquisitely carved, sometimes depicting
