Archaea 3: Red (2 page)

I had to give her credit; she deserved it despite her diminutive height. She is a skilled engineer in her own right, and a first-rate gun geek with every certification – she’s a pretty serious and focused young lady, for sure.

Compared to Shorty, Yak looked like he was taking a nap, but I noticed his feet were pulled in below his seat, and set perfectly for a leap in just about any direction. His head may have been leaning against the bulkhead, but he had positioned his faceplate to watch everyone and everything on the bus. Whether or not he did it on purpose or instinctually, he's the kind of guy that you can't sneak up on, and you can't out-smart.

Shaun ‘Yak’ Onebull is our operations specialist, which is a fancy word for 'person-who-handles-problems'. Though I’d wager Shorty is a pretty effective problem solver as well, she’s a little less intimidating – but don’t tell her I said that. Yak served as a Marine in the Service, and was a really nice guy, despite his green blood and leather neck.

It was totally obvious to everyone other than Yak and Shorty, but they were perfect for each other. This was perfectly understandable, as they were close to the same age, and he's about as dark and handsome as a girl might want, hailing from the Yakima Nation on Earth and as tall as the sky. He's a smart guy too – not your typical muscle. He was captain of his debate team and a star linebacker on his college team, and had his first doctorate before his peers had decided to wake up and pay attention in class.

Shorty’s about his perfect opposite, high strung, quick, and tiny – but like him, she is also wicked smart and utterly terrifying in null-g hand-to-hand combat. No one gets the better of Shorty, and she’s better at understanding the true nature of things than the rest of us combined. He really couldn’t ask for a more conscientious, kind and decent woman, and of course, she’s as cute as a button.

Watching her working on her wrist screen as we pulled closer to the Tranquility cliffs, I realized that we’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time, long before we met the captain, or set eyes on the Archaea. This was going to be a legendary shopping spree, with an unlimited budget and a nearly endless list. The captain gave us specific orders to come back with the best gear money can buy, or not come back at all.

Not that he would carry through with the threat.

At the least he’d have us painting decks somewhere; at the worst we’d have to endure a few eyebrows. In any case, we were about to spend in self-defense, a fact that made us positively giddy with excitement.

It's always a good time to upgrade, if you are in a good place for it – and as we topped out across the top of a pressure ridge and I saw the lights of the hab nestled along the base of the cliff in the distance, I realized this was definitely the right kind of place.

All of the habitats and colonies across Luna Freeside were duty- and tariff-free glom markets, but Tranquility Habitat was like the tech-center of the universe. Anything you might need could be had. Even if it wasn’t made here, it’s probably either being shipped here, or stored here
. If you need something that isn’t available, there are offices here that will have it built and delivered anywhere you might want.

As big of a market as this is, being located this close to Earth it was pretty civilized, if not very well regulated. Luna Freeside was pretty autonomous from the laws and governments of Earth, but even so, the Terran Service has a very heavy presence on this rock. They are in orbit, they have boots on the dirt, and they are everywhere.

We didn’t really expect any trouble, but no one ever expects the trouble they get. While this won’t be anything like the markets in fringe space or the outer rim, where your only local authority is the glom or criminal gang that holds control over the sector; Tranquility would still be a perfectly good place to disappear. Suddenly I wished Yak looked a little more alert, and a little less asleep.

As we pulled closer, the lights of the habitat twinkled in the shadows of the looming cliffs above. Tranquility started out as a tubefarm, or so the story goes, just like the kinds we have on Vega 6. They punched it in the shaded side of the crater wall, and just kept going. They linked tunnels along the cliff face, and started working up and down the face of the cliff, adding more and more tubes until it was all connected. The more they tunneled in, the more they built out. 

As we rolled on, the desolate cratered surface was giving way to endless expanses of solar farms, interspersed with stations and pipelines. In the distance, the tanks and domes of refineries, automated factories and storage facilities crawled across the base of the cliff like some sort of metal growth, an industrial plague.

Our grounder was getting closer, and Shorty looked up through the forward port as the rumbling vibration of the washboard track turned into smooth pavement.

“We're almost there Shorty… time to kick Yak awake”, I called across suit comms.

“I'm not asleep” Yak said instantly, though he didn't move even a micrometer.

“Oh sure, Yak”, I laughed, “That's exactly what I say when the captain calls back into engineering.”

“Yes Gene… but I am telling the truth.” he said with a laugh.

At that moment, we drove down a ramp from the brightest day into what looked like a tunnel of the darkest night, though once we flipped off our filters and our eyes adjusted we could see well enough.

A
few hundred meters down the tunnel the grounder eased to a stop and the hatch popped. Yak waved us ahead as we disembarked, and followed us as we made our way through the lock into the prep area.

“Should we rent racks for our suits, Gene? That kid on the desk looks alert enough.” Shorty asked.

“Well, it's pretty unlikely anyone would steal a suit here, though we do have some pretty nice gear.” I wasn't kidding either. Our suits were mimetic and plated with mil-spec ceramide. Even with mimetics turned off, we looked considerably more tactical than your average Lune.

Once we rented racks for the suits, and Yak signed for the insurance with a solid look of imminent and terrible physical harm towards the poor kid in case anything were to happen to them, we hopped past prep and into the hab. 

I've only been here a few times, but each time it was overwhelming. The upper levels are luxuriously appointed, with glittering restaurants, sculpture gardens, winding walkways through the most beautiful slow moving fountains, layers and layers of shops, malls, casinos, and everything in between.

Inside of 20 meters you might see an elde
rly dowager dripping with jewelry, a zaibatsu merc scanning the crowd with mirror lenses, or a family from Earth on vacation with squealing, leashed kids floating around. Every square inch of every surface were covered with signs... layers and layers of them, holo-v, screens, lights – all blasting sounds, calling for attention. Up down, and sideways, projected onto the deck and into your eyes - damn near more stimulation than my senses could handle.

We were looking at industry and commerce refined to an impossibly pure form. I could almost smell the money burning holes in pockets.

Yak forged a path for us through the crush of people racing in all directions through the upper warrens. I followed him closely and gave him directions while Shorty coasted on my belt. We landed some style points with a two-bank carom past a thick crowd around some fantastic deal being made, and hooked an escaladder downward. I hadn’t been here in a few years, but I remember being pretty struck by the stark differences between levels as you drop deeper into the hab.

Tranquility
is pretty vast. Topside corridors are flashy and glitzy, definitely high-roller country. Expensive wall coverings and cushioned benches scattered here and there await the poor souls who are worn out from an all-day shop. We entered at ground level, a few thousand feet shy of nose-bleed country, but there was no shortage of glitter this close to the main lock.

The people making money down here were spending it by the ton up there and I suppose some of it trickles down through the layers – but not very much, and not very far.

As you work your way inwards and down a few more levels, it becomes more and more seedy, until... well, I've never really had any occasion to go too far, but the stories I've heard aren't that encouraging. Apparently, lower levels are where the worker-bees live, and it can be a pretty rough neighborhood for the gapers to get lost in.

“Gene, where do you need to go first?” Shorty asked as we rode the escaladder down.

“Only a few levels down, not very far. I have an appointment with the engineering firm that develops the gravimetric sensors used by the Survey Service.”

“I didn't know we needed new sensors, Gene...I thought the sensors aboard Archaea were pretty decent”

“Well, they are decent, but the captain doesn't want decent, Shorty – he wants the best. The ones I am looking to buy are supposed to be the very best, with fine-grain resolution at incredible ranges.”

“Gene, Janis is going to love that. With the n
ew railers we installed, she's going to be able to hit marbles at a million clicks.”

I laughed. “She probably could
right now …that wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.” She laughed in response, as we hit our level and stepped off to our landing.

T
he whole atmosphere had changed; it was like we had just walked into a completely different hab.  The layered holo billboards, flashing lights and booming sonics gave way to nondescript tech frontage, glassed in waiting rooms with chromium reception desks standing sentry under nicely framed holos of engineering drawings.

The people here were different as well. The corridor was full of suits, white shirts,
and geek types, completely different from the blaring pageantry of the upper levels. I was at home here; this was definitely my comfort zone.

“Gene, what are these danger stripes for?” Yak asked, as we moved down the corridor.

“Well Yak, every few hundred meters, there are crash doors that are slaved to pressure circuits – if they flash ambers you better not be in their way, or you will get pulped. The black and yellow stripes here define the squish zone.”

“Is that for real Jane?” he asked, as we
moved through another set of doors.

“That's what I understand as well, Yak, though I haven't really ever heard of anyone getting the squish. I just get in the habit of making an
extra-long, extra-quick hop to get through. This is definitely not the place to hang around.” she added.

“Looks like we're here folks”, I said hopping to a stop next to a small white sign labeled Tranquilimetrics
Incorporated.

As we cycled
through the front doors, an older lady with no-nonsense glasses and a silver bun looked up quickly, as if she was shocked to see us. I guess they don’t deal with actual living, breathing, walk-in customers very often.

“Can I help you?” she asked, squinting at us
a bit as if to make sure we were really there, and not a figment of her imagination. A business like this does most, if not all, of their contracts through the RFP process with various fleets and other corporations.

“Hello my dear, my name is Gene Mitchell. We
represent the independent Archaea...” I trailed off, waiting for her to finish swiping through her screens.

“An independent?
” She squinted at me across her nose. “That's new. Please take a seat while I buzz back for a sales representative.” She nodded sideways towards some white plastiform benches lurking in the corner of the reception area.

As w
e sat down, I noticed a slight hum from an enviro unit somewhere above the ceiling tiles, but that was about it. This place was silent as the grave. The hiss of the interior door opening just about scared us out of our skin, but the young fellow with a buck-toothed grin that hopped out looked harmless enough.

“Mr. Mitchell? Thanks for stopping by, my name is
Preston Jackson, I am a junior sales associate here at Tranquilimetrics. It says here that you are representing the...” he paused, squinting at the screen on his handset.

“Archaea”, I filled in for him. “That's correct.”

“And you’re an independent?” He asked as he walked ahead of us through the reception area.

“No, Mr. Jackson, I am an engineer, by trade.” I said with a straight face. He paused briefly and looked at me sideways. I smiled, and nodded. “Yes, we represent the Archaea, an independent concern.” Shorty punched me in the shoulder while Yak chuckled
softly.

“Well, we sure don’t see very much business from indies, Mr. Mitchell. In fact, I guess you’re probably the only one I’ve ever worked with since I’ve been here”, he replied as we
walked through a series of offices and hooked into a pretty standard conference room, decked out in wood-tone paneling with a wood-tone table. It appeared that wood-tone polymer film coatings were all the rage down here on Luna.

“And what sort of upgrade are you looking for?” he aske
d, motioning us towards chairs.

“Well, we are looking to equip her with the very best
gravimetric gear we can get.” I said with a smile.

“Well, you've come to the right place, but what sort of setup are you looking for, exactly? We offer a wide range of solutions to meet nearly any budget.”