It was like killing the same pet over and over again. It got to the point where I could hardly look into their adoring eyes or touch their eager heads. So, it was with a sense of tremendous relief that I saw Mars on the main view screen. It was beautiful and looked like a sphere of reddish-orange marble set spinning on a sheet of black velvet. I was thinking about the surface and what we might encounter there when the captain burst my bubble. She moved quietly for such a large woman, and I didn’t know she was present until her forklift brushed my right shoulder.
“Welcome to Mars. Ever been outside before?”
My eyebrows shot towards the top of my head. “Outside? As in outside the ship?”
“Sure,” the captain replied curiously. “What? You thought we’d dump the cargo and let it drift?”
“I assumed we would dock with a habitat. Like Staros- 3.”
The captain laughed. Tidal waves of fat rippled back and forth beneath me surface of her black pajamas. “A habitat! That’s a good one! As if the poor bastards had the resources to build a space station! Hell, they’re lucky to meet the company’s daily production quota, much less dick around with habitats. No, we unload the cargo in orbit and they take the stuff down in shuttles. So how ‘bout it? You been outside before?”
I knew there was a strong possibility that I had, but I couldn’t be sure, so I shook my head.
The captain clucked sympathetically. “Too bad. But don’t worry, you’ll catch on. And sweet buns too. When it comes time to unload, everyone turns to, and I mean everyone. Even me.”
And she meant it too, which accounted for the fact that Sasha and I found ourselves adrift within the main lock four hours later. My space suit was too small, Sasha’s was too large, and both smelled like an overripe armpit. The captain had taken the spin off the ship in order to provide unobstructed access to the cargo bay. The result was zero gee and nausea in the pit of my stomach. The others, Sasha included, showed no signs of discomfort.
The regular crew members had customized their suits, or purchased customized units, I wasn’t sure which. The captain’s was bright pink with lots of flashing red lights and a hint of chrome. Killer had co-opted Lester’s suit. It had been painted to resemble a naked Hercules complete with fake sex organ. He made a production out of cutting it off and waving it over his head. Kreshenko had gone for the high-tech look, favoring a suit fitted with articulated cutters, lasers, and other accessories too numerous to mention. It made him look like a large Swiss army knife. In fact Wilson, already positioned in the cargo bay, was the only one besides ourselves who wore an unmodified suit. The outer hatch cycled open, and the captain’s voice crackled in my ears.
“Okay people, listen up. Sweet buns will team with Kreshenko, and chrome-dome comes with me. Let’s get it over with.” So saying, the captain fired her jets and headed out into the void. She looked like a wad of pink chewing gum wrapped with Christmas tree lights.
I didn’t want to go but knew I had to. I fired my jets. The suit surged upwards, bounced off the overhead, and took off again. I cut power, aligned myself with the hatch, and gave it another try. Nausea rolled over me as I passed out into the vast emptiness of space. The captain loomed ahead, dodged out of the way, and made a grab for my suit. “Maxon! Cut your jets!”
I obeyed and felt completely humiliated as she clipped a line to the eye mounted on my chest plate and towed me towards the ship’s stern. So much for my secret hopes that past knowledge would surface to save the day.
The ship filled most of the view. The hull was cylindrical and covered with duct work, antenna farms, solar arrays, and other installations too arcane for me to understand. And beyond that, half hidden by the Trader’s hull, was Mars herself, a glowing red presence against a field of black. The sight was so awesome, so compelling, that my nausea was momentarily forgotten. No wonder the earlier me had ventured into the Big Black. There could be nothing more beautiful than the sight before me.
The cargo hatch was open, and the loading lights served to illuminate Wilson’s launcher. The launcher was the equivalent of a spacegoing forklift, except that it could “launch” cargo modules, as well as move them around.
In this case that meant propelling the containers from the ship’s hold towards the holding “pen” where the rest of the crew would retrieve and move them inside. No simple task when the modules were eight times bigger than you were. The launcher looked like a praying mantis with a man strapped to its stomach.
Correctly assessing my competence as nonexistent, the captain secured my safety line to the pen and issued strict instructions to stay where I was. I was happy to comply. As the rest of the crew arrayed themselves in front of the holding structure, and prepared to “catch” cargo, I examined the pen. It was anything but high-tech.
Bright orange plastic netting had been stretched over a metal framework to create a massive box or “pen” into which the cargo could be shoved and temporarily stored. Lights strobed off and on to warn ships of the pen’s presence, and a system of moveable partitions had been installed to divide one load of cargo from the next.
I watched in amazement as Wilson launched the first container in our direction and the captain jetted out to intercept it. The captain was surprisingly graceful as she hurtled through space, caught the incoming module, and pushed it towards me. “Time to earn your keep, Maxon. Catch the sucker and shove it into the pen.”
Mars-light winked off the top surface of the container as it tumbled in my direction. The captain had met the module with the correct amount of force, but her aim was off. To correct for that, and direct the cargo into the pen, I would have to move to the right. I gritted my teeth, fired my jets, and jerked to a halt when my safety line ran out. I felt the cable tighten under my armpit and pull me around. I was still in the process of turning back and raising my hands when the container hit. It pushed me into the net, dropped through the opening like an eight ball entering the corner pocket, and drifted towards the back wall. My jets pushed me out, the cable jerked me around, and the captain sounded cheerful. “Good going, Maxon. Keep it up.”
I had barely recovered when the next module arrived, closely followed by the next, and the one after that. I felt like the goalie in a reversed hockey game, as the team fed me pucks, and I bounced them into the net. It became fun after a while as they warmed up and I gained skill. Still, the hours took their toll, and I was glad when it was over.
The captain towed me towards the ship. A pair of shuttles arrived, jockeyed for position, and disgorged a dozen space-suited figures. They headed for the pen. Their motions were so smooth, so coordinated, that our efforts looked clumsy by comparison.
A few hours later we were packed, paid, and floating around the lock as one of Marscorp’s shuttles made contact. The captain had come to see us off. She extended a bejeweled hand. I took it and was surprised by her strength. “You’re sure you won’t stay? Kreshenko is soft on sweet buns, and your head makes a good mirror.”
I shook my head. “Thanks…but we’ll be moving on.”
The captain shrugged. “Okay, have it your way, but a word to the wise…”
The hatch opened and we pulled ourselves through. I turned around.
“Yeah? And what would that be?”
“Be sure to duck.”
The hatch closed, and I never saw her again. The stewardess had purple hair and matching day-glo nail polish. She wore a blue jumpsuit and a bored expression. She pointed towards the main passageway. “Grab any seat that’s open.”
We nodded and used the conveniently placed handholds to pull ourselves along. I considered what the captain had said. “What did she mean ‘duck’?”
“She meant ‘take care of yourself,’” Sasha replied easily. “What did you think she meant?”
I frowned. “It could have been a warning.”
“You worry too much.”
Sasha spotted some empty seats and pulled herself in that direction. I followed. A tiny maintenance bot, one of hundreds that roamed the ship, scuttled across the overhead. It had a screw clamped in its tiny jaws and appeared to be in a hurry. Whatever the problem was, I hoped it wasn’t critical.
The rest of the passengers, an eclectic group gathered from five or six different ships, stared as we strapped ourselves in. They were what I imagined to be the usual mix of freelancers, corpies, and a zombie or two. They watched with dull, self-absorbed eyes, thinking of what lay ahead, and wishing it was over. And no wonder, since it was common knowledge that even easy Mars jobs were hard, and not everyone who came lived long enough to go back. Not a particularly friendly crowd, but not especially hostile either, so I forced myself to relax and watched Sasha out of the corner of my eye.
She looked okay, which was amazing considering what she’d been through. But appearances can be deceiving. Watching her had become a hobby of mine, and I thought I saw tension around her eyes, plus a pallor that no amount of artificial tanning could hide. And why not? The poor thing had been abducted by corpies, chased by poppers, lost an eye, and been assaulted by a sexual psychopath. All in spite of my rather questionable protection.
