Grower's Omen (The Fixers, book #2: A KarmaCorp Novel) (6 page)

M
y claustrophobia was creeping in
, no matter how much my chakras were trying to hold it at bay. They didn’t have anything to ground in, and that made them weak.

Or so I thought every time I hitched a ride into space.

Take-off had been uneventful and the captain had just given me the go-ahead to unbuckle. Not that there was much of anywhere to go. I surveyed the small bridge and its human contents. Two sharing duties here, one in the engine room, two sleeping. Standard complement for a small cargo vessel.

Five people against the blackness of space.

I shook my head—that kind of thinking would make me crazy a lot sooner than usual. I hefted my bag, and then remembered why it was so heavy. First things first—time to make half my weight allotment disappear.

Hopefully, this crew liked real food.

Iggy would laugh—I was community building again. It was as automatic for me as breathing, and maybe as necessary, even if I would only be here for a few days. I started pulling out containers, keeping one eye on the captain. Occasionally spacers were weird about microbes. Or crumbs on the bridge.

She raised a mildly interested eyebrow. “You brought lunch?”

“For all of us, if you’re interested.” A peace offering of sorts, in case the crazies caught up with me en route. It was always good to make friends before the panic attacks happened. “I have some sandwiches and some squash soup, all homemade.”

The comm officer’s eyes lit up at the last two words. “For real?”

Every last crumb. “Yeah—you like the real stuff?”

“I grew up on Athenia.”

Home planet of the back-to-the-land movement. I grinned at the officer who had introduced herself as Kixie, and handed her a sandwich. “Then you’ll probably like this.”

She took it reverently, squealed, and then glanced over at the captain. “Sorry, but there’s avocado in here.” She inhaled deeply. “And real lettuce.”

It was all real. She’d figure that out soon enough.

Captain Kriggs looked amused. “I don’t know what avocado is, but I assume it’s a good thing.”

It was one of the foods that soy had never figured out how to passably replicate.

I watched as Kixie made room on a nearby surface and carefully laid down her sandwich. That one had gone to a good home. I glanced over at the captain. “Would you like one? There’s plenty. Or some soup?”

“I’m a spacer, born and raised.” Her smile was wry. “So there’s no way I’m going to appreciate that the way it’s meant to be appreciated. But if you could set a little something aside for the two who are sleeping, that would be fantastic. They’ll owe me for weeks.”

Kixie stopped inhaling the fumes of her sandwich long enough to look up. “They’re both dirt born.”

That was a lot of planet dwellers on one small cargo ship. I raised an eyebrow at the captain. “Do you collect them?”

She laughed. “I usually run a route in the Brazilius sector. Lots of real food to be had, even on most of the space stations. For dirt dwellers who want to be in space, the
Indigo
here is a pretty good gig.”

I had no idea why anyone not born in a tin can would want to live in one, but regular infusions of real food would at least make hell more bearable. “Sorry to pull you away from your regular duties.”

She was back to tapping buttons on her console. “We’re happy to serve KarmaCorp.”

She sounded like she meant it. I tried to let the supportive energy soothe the itch attacking my skin from the inside out.

The captain looked over as I gave in and squirmed. “Not fond of cargo ships?”

I hated them deeply—they disconnected me from anything living and breathing, and the absence greased my insides like soul rot. “Flying in general.” I looked into eyes that showed more interest than most. “It’s hard on my Talent.”

She nodded, not seeming to take it personally. “My sister’s claustrophobic. I fly her home to see the folks every year or two. She’s usually climbing the walls by the time we’re halfway there.”

I didn’t ask how long the trip was—I probably didn’t want to know. Three days was bad enough.

She regarded me carefully. “We have a couple of things in our medical dispensary you could take. Nerve calmers, mostly.”

If I’d wanted one of those, I’d have brought my own. “Thank you, but I prefer to keep my judgment unclouded.”

That got me a small nod of respect. “As you wish it, Grower.”

My wishes involved the development of interstellar teleportation so I never had to climb into a tin can ever again, but so far, the universe had been extremely deaf on that point. “I’ll be in my quarters. Please let me know when we’re approaching Xirtaxis Minor.”

Captain Kriggs looked a bit pained. “Your quarters are quite small. If you’d like, you can use mine—they’re bigger.”

They’d still be far too small for comfort. “That’s a generous offer, but I don’t need to disturb you any more than I already have.” KarmaCorp was likely paying a premium for my delivery, but she was still going out of her way.

“It’s no bother.” She indicated the small panel door on the rear of the bridge. “Quarters are through there. Head and shower at the end—hot water lasts about three minutes. Your bed slot is upper right. Monty is below you and he’s a heavy sleeper, so you don’t need to worry about noise.”

Kixie grinned. “He’s usually sleeping with his engines anyhow.”

If I had a choice between a coffin and a warm room full of purring equipment, I’d likely choose the latter too. Bed slots were the cargo-ship version of human pallets. Enough room to roll over if you really had to, and not much else.

Nostalgia flowed for my room with its undersized bed and thin walls.

I looked around the small bridge and spied a corner in behind the comm station—and more importantly, a small potted plant in the coffee cup holder. Something green to commune with would ease my traveling considerably, and this seemed like a pretty relaxed crew. “Perhaps instead you wouldn’t mind if I tucked myself in here and meditated a bit?”

The captain looked at the corner I was pointing toward. “Sure—knock yourself out.”

Hopefully not.

I looked over at Kixie, since it was her space I’d be invading.

She took another bite of her sandwich and tapped her tablet. “Go right ahead—I can monitor everything I need to from here.” Her eyes closed in bliss. “Gods and goddesses, this is real tomato, isn’t it?”

It was, and clearly I’d borne it to the right destination. I touched the little plant on her station gently. “You’ve got a knack with green things.”

“That?” Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Anyone can grow a delfinia.”

More or less. “Yes, but this one’s very happy here, and that’s harder to do.”

She looked pleased. “Really—you can tell that?”

I could. And spending a little time in its company would let me soak in the vibe of a living creature that had no more control over this vessel than I did, and still trusted. Still found ease.

A more-than-worthy repayment for a slice of tomato.

L
anding
on a new planet was always an adventure—and not usually a good one. I made my way down the crinkly tube from the landing shuttle to the airlock door, hand on my emergency oxygen supply. I’d never needed it, but unlike most Fixers, I took the threat of death and dismemberment very seriously.

One of the hazards of being dirt born.

I paused at the airlock door and peered through the small window. Hopefully, someone was expecting me. Moments later, a cheerfully round face squinted back at me, and then I heard the whirs and whistles of whatever it was that airlock doors did to keep out deep space.

“Good day, Grower, and welcome to Xirtaxis Minor.” My contact lifted a hand in the universal sign of greeting, or at least the one everyone used when there was threat of contamination. “I’m Glenn Ignatius, head medical and your landing committee.”

I nodded, bemused. He didn’t look like most of his breed—medicals were usually stern and physically fit, as if they could embarrass the rest of us by their superior example. Glenn had a round body to match the round face, and his scrubs had either been living on him for several days or did auxiliary duty as dress-up clothes for small children. “I’m Tyra Lightbody. Thanks for coming out to meet me.” It wasn’t a small thing—he’d have to go through decontamination with me now.

“It’s a pleasure.” He gestured at the only door out of the tiny airlock. “We don’t get many visitors here, and I wanted to make sure you felt right at home.”

I could feel my soul reaching out to gather my temporary tribe already. “Thanks.”

He took a more careful look at me, this one both friendly and professionally assessing. “Those cargo ships can be rough traveling.”

I didn’t bother to tell him that this had been one of my better trips—Kixie’s little plant and a cheerful crew had kept me reasonably sane. I was very pleased the
Indigo
would be circling back to get me when my mission was done. “It always feels better to put my feet on the ground.”

“Ah, planet born, are you?” He was busying himself with the tubes and scanners that would clean up anything I’d managed to pick up on the way here. “Been anywhere near soil or microbes in the last cycle or two?”

I laughed, even though it was a totally standard question. “My family grows most of the food supply for Stardust Prime. I was thinning pea shoots four days ago.”

His eyes brightened. “They sent us a farmer, did they? Good.”

He was definitely an unusual medical. Most of them weren’t at all fond of microbes or those of us who played with them. “I assume you’ve got decon equipment that can handle me.” The experimental species biomes usually had the very best in containment gear.

“Nothing in, nothing out.” He grinned. “Unless you’ve got some contraband snacks we should consume before we get started.”

I’d run out of those two days ago, sadly. “The crew ate them. Something about balancing out the mass ratios.”

Glenn looked amused, which made him more of a spacer than I was. He gestured at a metal ring on the floor of the small room we’d entered. “That’s our decon tube. I’ll need you to shed all but a light base layer. If you’re shy, I can run the controls from the other room.”

I laughed and started peeling my skinsuit. “Ever met a shy Grower?”

He chuckled and began removing his own scrubs. “I’ve only met three, but none of you seemed overly concerned about how many clothes you were wearing.”

The natural side effect of a Talent that worked best naked. I waved a hand at my cami and shorts. “This good enough?”

“Yes, and thank you.” Glenn was utterly professional now, moving to set the streams of light and energy that would neutralize anything foreign I’d managed to carry across the galaxy for three days. “You’d be amazed at what some folks arrive wearing.”

I grinned at his neon Santa Claus boxers. “Those are standard issue, are they?”

His face moved in the fluid lines of a man who smiled readily and often. “They tend to set people at ease.”

I’d bet he was pretty good at that even when he had all his clothes on. I also suspected there was a lot more intelligence behind the genial face than he let on. The competition to work in an experimental biome was steep—he would have come here as one of the best in his field. I stepped into the metal circle and held out my arms. “How long have you been on Xirtaxis Minor?”

He tapped a couple of buttons that started a low hum above me, and a slowly circling light. “Three rotations. Got one more in my original contract, and then I’ll decide if I want a second run.”

Anyone who had lasted here three years had a pretty sane head on his shoulders. “Tell me what I’m walking into.”

His assured movements with the equipment didn’t miss a beat, but his eyes sharpened. “They tell me I’m supposed to get you safely in the door and then let you come to your own conclusions.”

That was the standard briefing for local contacts. “I bet they tell you to wear khaki-green boxers too.”

That earned me a grin. “A rule breaker, are you?”

When I needed to be. “Just someone who knows the value of opinions from people on the ground.” It was a Lightbody trait—in another century, my family would have been full of spies and covert operatives.

The lights stopped, and Glenn motioned me out of the circle. “Looks like you’re all clear. A little dirt, a few microbes. Nothing Betsy here couldn’t take care of.”

I had to like a man who named his decon tube. I stepped over to my clothes, which had been put through a separate scan, less friendly to human life. “Want me to run it for you?”

He was already stepping into the circle. “No, she runs on auto just fine. I did manual for you because of your high exposure risk, but my Santa shorts here have visited with Betsy a lot.”

He was done in half the time the machine had taken to inspect me. I waited, giving him time to dress. It wasn’t polite to press a man for information while I could still see his belly rolls.

I shook my head as my Talent buzzed lightly. Apparently, it was finding belly rolls attractive today. That tended to happen when they came attached to a guy with a sunny smile, a quick brain, and comfort in his own skin. I had a decided weakness for all three.

However, I wasn’t here to suss out the sexiness of the locals. That could happen after I got a look at my mission up close and personal. “Tell me about the people here.” I’d done my homework, but nothing was ever nearly as good as sharp eyes on the ground.

He walked me through into a waiting area that looked comfortable and homey. “There are approximately three hundred of us. About half scientists and techs, and half who keep Xirtaxis up and running.”

I was well familiar with being one of the worker bees.

“Residential areas and communal space are all central in the biome, with eight greenhouse domes on the edges where the real work happens.” He took a seat in a low-slung chair and gestured me to its mate. “You have a room in the visitor quarters in the scientist barracks. That’s where more of the problems have been cropping up, so I thought you might want a front-row seat.”

That felt loaded somehow. “That’s a reasonable assumption. I’ll let you know if it isn’t working.” His language was already giving me some possible clues, however. Things sounded regimented, vaguely military. “Regularized schedule?”

“Sort of.” His shrug could have meant almost anything. “Some people choose to live in the labs, and some disappear into their projects for weeks at a time and then come out when they’re hungry.”

That was pretty standard normal for scientists. “I was told there have been some unusual psychological issues cropping up.”

He nodded, reached for a tablet, and handed it to me. “I have the files you requested ready for you. Logs on each of the reported incidents, including my personal notes, and detailed personnel data.”

That was very thorough. Clearly cooperation from this quarter wasn’t going to be a problem. I scanned the first of the files and looked up in surprise. “You’re the one who found the connection?” That hadn’t been in my briefing.

He shrugged again. “I noticed elevated cortisol levels on a random check of regular lab work.”

That was indicative of stress. “Highest in people with reported incidents?”

“Some, but not all.”

That could mean almost anything. “But you saw a pattern.”

“Not one I could get anyone to take seriously.”

I looked up, catching the undertones. He wanted me to form my own opinions, as instructed—but the affable man who wore neon Santa shorts was worried. I had no idea what bureaucratic gunk had gotten in his way, but I could at least give him something. “We’re paying attention now.” Fixers didn’t get sent in otherwise.

He looked at me a long moment, and then nodded.

Sometimes actions meant far more than words. I tapped the data under my fingertips. “You’ve spent a lot more time with this than I have—seen any other patterns?”

He took a slow breath. “It’s mostly younger people affected, or they’re more willing to report. And most problems happen when people have been spending a lot of time in the domes, particularly the most experimental ones.”

None of that was a surprise, but it was all good to know. And it meant that either senior staff were very shortsighted, or they didn’t spend enough time with their hands in the dirt.

I would make neither mistake. What hurt one, hurt all, especially in a community this tiny.

I scanned the data quickly. I’d take a closer look later, but on first glance, I saw little beyond what Glenn had already spotted. “There’s certainly enough here to be alarmed about.”

I saw the flare of relief in his eyes, which told me plenty all on its own. “Thanks.”

We weren’t supposed to loop in our local contacts, but I broke that rule more often than not. “The two most likely causes are some kind of plant pheromonal activity, probably in dome Alpha or Beta, or one of your junior staff has psychic potential that isn’t so latent anymore. But we’ll keep an open mind—it could be almost anything.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Can you detect a sensitive?”

It was a different use of energy than Talents, but I might be able to, especially if they worked in the dirt. “Maybe. I’m betting on pheromones as more likely, though.” It wouldn’t be the first time that some innocent plant’s communication system messed with human receptors. It gave my theorizing somewhere to start, anyhow. As always, I’d be prepared to hastily revise on the fly. I yawned, feeling the relaxation that was travel lag’s first symptom kicking in hard.

Glenn hopped out of his chair, looking slightly guilty. “Sorry. I’ll take you to your quarters now, and you can unpack and catch a nap.” He grinned. “Doc’s orders. After that, would you like to tour the lab? There would probably still be time to meet most of the key players before work shift is officially over for the afternoon.”

I was tired, but I was still picking things up. He was smart, competent, and professional—and there was something he wasn’t telling me. Which was fine, but it did make me want to have the first meetings on more neutral ground. “I’ll catch everyone at dinner.” Food was always turf I felt at ease on.

A quick flash of respect. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

My Talent buzzed lightly again. I liked this guy, in ways I didn’t usually bother with when I was on assignment.

This time, Glenn noticed. I watched the reactions hit him one at a time—surprise, appreciation, and then something that looked oddly like professional relaxation. Like a worry he’d been hiding away had just exhaled. He turned toward a door that would lead us into the rest of the biome, but I didn’t miss what he murmured, almost under his breath. “You’ll do better here than I thought.”

I wasn’t dumb enough to take murmurs for shyness—he’d wanted me to hear, and he was giving me the choice in whether I responded. I made my decision quickly. Time to let his Santa shorts off the hook and collect some of my own first impressions. He’d already given me plenty. I gathered my travel bag, slung it over my shoulder, and gave Glenn what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Nap first. Then take me to your leader.”

When he laughed, I knew I’d made my first friend on Xirtaxis Minor.

And wondered just how tricky it might be to make the next one.