Black Hull (8 page)

“So everyone’s after Utopia, and how
many get in that try? One percent? It’s the same as the rat-race was in the
UCA. The American dream. A race to the top with no map to get you there,” he
replied.

“You’re a good soldier Mick, stay that
way. We’ll get you home,” she smiled. XJ and GR left, tired of attempting the
sludge in their bowls, heading for the game room.

“What was the best you could do back
then?” she asked, extending her arm over the table into Mick’s space. Her
finger picked at a knot in the wood.

“I could raise my sons, relax in my
yard, drink a beer. Romance my wife.”

“Romance?” She smiled. “What’s that?”

Sarcastic. Has this cold woman ever
known it though?

“You’ll have your romance, grow old, and die. Five generations later, no one
will know a thing about you, your wife, or your sons,” she said.

“And what’ll you have in Utopia?” Mick
replied. She caught his eyes wandering momentarily to her calf. She brushed her
leg against his.

So warm.

“I’ll have my family. Forever. And
everyone I’ve ever known and cared for. Forever.”

“Forever’s too long. I wouldn’t want
it.”

“Really? Then maybe you
should
get back there. Because here, civilization has finally learned that the only
thing worth achieving in life is permanence. Families dedicate generations to
getting what we have now, and you’re stuck on a gap of time a thousand years
ago with a death sentence waiting at the end of it.” She withdrew her arm and
leg. “I’m going to bed. We’ll get to Carner’s Post tomorrow and unload the M
and H. Then you can make your jump.” She left the table and half her bowl of
stew.

She’s walking slow. Deliberate. The
apple of her ass before me, and all the sin of man—only ask for forgiveness,
and you shall have it; wasn’t it that easy at one point in history? There are
two heavens—one here, identical to the ones people longed for in those hooky
religions, and I can have it, or the single lifespan I knew. One seems more
real than the other—should it?

The Cozon descended upon a red-powdered
world of sickles and canes, shrouded in clouds of flashing sapphire: Carner’s
Post. A line of metal divided the sugared iron mounts. Specks of dust fell on
the crew as they exited the ship, alien snow coating the glass of their
helmets.

“Unload the ore XJ,” Sera said into her
com. Mick watched her, let her lead him to a steel hangar.

What kind of cut is she getting? I could
go home rich. She’ll give me just enough to cover the jump. It’d be easy enough
to kill her and take all the money—stuff her in with Emily Husson. Together
they’d make a good project for XJ and GR.

Sera walked powerfully through the
hangar door. Carner’s worn leather face glanced up, then returned to his
viewscreen.

“What brings your pretty ass to these
parts?” he asked. He saw Mick enter after. “Oh—who’s this?”

“We unloaded the M and H. You good for
the market price?”

“I wouldn’t have let you land if I
wasn’t,” he replied. “Give me your plastic.”

Sera handed a slim wafer to Carner. He
stuck it into the grimy computer in front of him. A beep issued from it and he
returned it to her.

“Forty thousand, check it.”

“I will,” Sera said. She put the wafer
into a rectangular attachment on her belt, then nodded. Mick looked around:
Carner’s building wore the red shade of decay. Rotting steel reminded him of
home. The smell of coffee drove into his nostrils.

“Can I have some?” Mick asked, spotting
a pot on a table.

“Help yourself. Sera’s latest toy?” Mick
ignored the comment, only half-realizing it had been directed at him.

“Okay, we’re good. Thanks,” Sera said.
“Come on Mick, get some on the ship.”

“Let him have a cup, Sera. Tell me about
yourself, young man.” Carner said. Mick turned to the weathered man. He looked
human enough, but one of his eyes was black marble with a dot of dimly lit
pearl at its center. His clothes bore the same signs of wear as his home,
rotting together.

“I’m a friend, a smuggler. Just
working.”

“Work! Hah, I’ll bet! With forty
thousand UCD? You won’t be looking for work for a long time son,” Carner said.

“It’s not my money.”

“The hell it isn’t. She may make you
earn it, but you seem fit—up to the task.”

“Drop it Carner,” Sera said.

“Oh come on hon, I get lonely here. I
like the company.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Mick
asked, growing curious. He poured his coffee down.

“Sera is a fine young woman, but she’s
tough, so don’t think you have to be gentle with her.”

“I’m a married man, if that’s what
you’re getting at,” Mick replied. Sera looked back to the metal runway behind
them. XJ had finished unloading and turned on the medium thrusters, awaiting
their return in the cockpit. Behind the Cozon was a bleak, sand-red horizon
ripped by blue clouds: a crystal sky set against a mudstone world.

“Well, what is that now,
marriage
. . . a convention of UCA culture, if memory serves me,” said Carner. He stood
up and walked close. He seemed singularly interested in Mick, inspecting the
lines of his face, lips, eyes, muscles; evaluating his height, weight, spirit,
virility, scent.

“He’s not for sale, he’s a human,” said
Sera.

“I know, I can tell now that I’ve stood
up. But what’s a human got to do with being for sale? What’s the difference,
the way they make ‘em now?”

“How do you come by so much money?” Mick
asked.

This rawhide sack coughed up forty
thousand like it’s nothing, and he’s not jumping to get to Utopia.

“I flip elements and molecules boy. I’ll
reel in sixty thousand for this M and H, easy. That’s a clean one-third profit.”
A small brass droid came into the room.

“Magnadraw and Hoila has been unloaded
and stored, boss,” said the droid.

“Thanks Ringle. You’re dismissed,”
Carner said. His servant rolled away into the dust shed beyond.

“So why don’t you—” Mick started; Sera
cut him off. She placed her arm on his shoulder.

“Don’t Mick. We’re out of here, come
on,” she said.

“Real protective of this one,” said
Carner. “Let him ask. Seems he’s not from around here.”

“Why don’t you go to Utopia then? Surely
you can afford it,” Mick asked.

Expose her lies. Tell it like it is old
man.

“Couldn’t if I tried boy. I have the
taint. I’m a felon. My plant’s as good as cancer. But I tell you what, I’m
saving for an expancapacitor system. So I expect I’ll have my own little
Utopia, right here on his blood rock.”

So Utopia is forbidden to the felons, no
matter their wealth. How the hell is Sera clean?

“You can stay here then,” Sera said
coldly, walking away.

“Listen to me boy. You watch out for
her. Married you say? That won’t keep her at bay. You keep yourself locked up
at night,” Carner laughed. Mick frowned at the old man.

“Why do they call it year fourteen?”

“What?” said Carner, his devious smile
disappearing. “My, you truly aren’t from around these parts, are you? AM maybe?
I did think you looked like one of the new models, but AM on one as new as you,
dear Christ.”

“You won’t tell me?”

“It was a joke, son, calm down. I know
you’re not a cellbot. Were you serious?”

“I was.”

“In thirty-nine eighty-six, Utopia was
discovered. And so it’s fourteen years since then.”

“A gift from the past?”

“You’re damned right, a gift from the
past. To everyone but me.”

Mick handed Carner his mug. “Thanks.”

“What now?” Mick said over sludge stew.

“Now is relative, and what is an adverb at
times,” XJ said.

“GR is Givering, and Givering is GR,”
said GR. He quizzically looked at XJ. “Should I accept a malware if it invades
my pleasure receptors and makes them feel good?” he asked.

“Of course not!” XJ chided.

Sera looked up at the fussing droids.

“I’m getting tired of this slop. I think
we should open the stores again.”

“Sera, let me,” XJ offered, forgetting
GR’s conundrum.

“Get macaroni and cheese. And apple
juice.”

“I’m on my way,” he replied. GR followed
him out to the pantry.

“What now,” Mick repeated.

“We drop you off and part ways,” Sera
said coldly.

“At the T-jump?”

“Yup.”

“How long?”

“Couple days.”

“And how long after until you’ll reach
Utopia?”

“I don’t know. Could be a month. I’ve
got to stop off to do dad’s transfer.”

“Who’ll do that?”

“Cheapest? A droid on the West Rail
Sector.”

“How do you know what you know about
Utopia anyway?”

“News channels,” she replied. “I’ve
never met someone who’s been inside, because no one would leave.”

“Are you allowed to leave if you want?”

“You don’t get the concept yet do you?
In Utopia, all spacetime is unlocked. Complete access to every and any universe
history. Time, location, people, events—they exist as a result of your desire.
Combine that with an expancapacitor rig, and you might begin to understand why
no one is T-jumping.”

“But you’re planning to enter without an
expancapacitor rig, aren’t you?”

“I’ll get one on the inside.”

“How?”

“Don’t worry about it. What do you care
anyway?”

“Why not T-jump to steal money? Intercept
trade runs, gamble?”

“Some do. But M82 is a no jump galaxy,
so it’s about impossible for us. They come from galaxies on the fringe, where
the plant system hasn’t been activated yet. I’m a bandit, but no T-jump
criminal. We stay away from quantum crimes. The stakes are too high.”

“Why don’t you have a taint?” Mick
asked.

“What?”

“Carner can’t get in because he’s a
felon. And you’re not?”

“I’ve never been caught.”

“You always work alone?”

“That’s why I’m not tainted. If you
hadn’t wormholed into M82, I’d have been working alone for a long time before I
had enough to get us in, even if I took good loads consistently for the next
ten years. But the hits never are consistent.”

“Pirating?”

“What sort of business do you think I
run out of Bessel 2, home goods?”

“Hadn’t thought of it. Ore, maybe.”

“Ore’s dry in this system. Magnadraw and
Hoila was plucked clean centuries ago.”

“So you’re unmarked, no record. Mine’s
what put me into space, got me into this mess in the first place.”

“Do you have any idea how many people
I’ve killed?”

“No,” Mick replied.
Have I killed two
now, or do droids not count?

Sera’s eyes rose, her mind mixed in
memory.

“Well neither do I. But every one of
them was a cock-sucking bureaucrat. I’ve got to work out. Carner stresses me
out.”

“You have a gym on board?”

“It’s nice enough,” she answered. “Don’t
be afraid of it. I go stir crazy in space with just XJ and GR if I don’t
exercise.”

Was that a smile? Ice to flame.

XJ returned and put on macaroni and
cheese. Sera left to work up another appetite in the Cozon’s gym. Mick
reflected upon his last few days in the year fourteen:
I’ve only killed one
man. What’s she going to do? Go to Utopia, fix her brother and her father, and
sit in eternal bliss? Sounds like a boring story. I want to see my boys. Karen.
Ol’ Selby. He’s a good dog. He’ll be there again. Lots of kisses for me.

Mick stepped into a wide blue room
filled with bronze bars and weights. Sera squatted, thrust her butt, then
lunged forward. Mick let her finish a set then walked over.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Why so curious all of the sudden?” she
replied.