Supergiant (Gigaparsec Book 2) (5 page)

“I’m not a guild member, so the
breeders make me pay export prices for the milk. Nobody wants ice cream that
expensive. This year, maybe next, I’ll retire. Who knows?”

“Breeders?” asked Roz.

“Sorry,” the old merchant said with
genuine regret. “Back in the founding days, people who got caught breaking the
fertility laws on Earth were sent here to the back forty of the galaxy. When
the war loomed, Prairie grew faster than other colonies because it was
considered a safe haven. If the Phib managed to wipe out every other planet, we
could seal off the incoming jump point and preserve the Human race.”

Roz said, “Better than the
nose-bleeders on Ravenna. The chosen few are so concerned with keeping wealth
in the family that they inbreed until the boys have trouble clotting.”

Max cleared his throat. “Are all the
Prairie settlers poor?”

“Nah. Rich families wanted a safe haven,
too. A lot of ranches cropped up after the massacre on New Hawaii. The breeder
farmers had to form a guild to stand up to the ranchers and rail barons. The
guild hates outsiders, especially businesses from the Lunar Oligarchy colonies.”
The merchant’s eyes flicked nervously toward a passing space-station official.
“Let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy.”

When the crewmates were alone, Roz
circled back to the spy issue that still bothered her. “Do you trust Kesh?”

“With our cargo choices? Of course.
He’s a financial genius. Those Harmony trees from Eden will make a great
firebreak against grassfires for farms on Prairie.”

She couldn’t talk about Banker
spies in public, so she switched topics to the manifest. “What I don’t get is
that the majority of our cargo is assorted grain. This place is a major grain
producer. Why not buy it here and save the fuel?”

“Because ships who buy food here are
assumed to be selling it for obscene profits in Jotunheim. Like the old guy
said, the farmers have some sort of guild, so they automatically mark up the
orbital grain cost to take half that expected profit. We can offer our grain to
other ships at a few credits under Prairie’s monopoly level, and they’ll buy
all of ours first.”

She liked how the smile softened
his features. “Sneaky.”

“If we have any grain left, Kesh
will trade it for power crystals on Phoenix.” He paused to make appreciative
sounds over the dessert. “This whipped cream is great.”

She made a mental note, adding it
to his favorites list.

Early Monday morning, Roz made certain the ship repairs were
going well under Reuben’s supervision before leaving for the spaceport on
Prairie’s surface. Filling out paperwork for the buggy took longer and the fees
were higher than anticipated. Up front, the rental agency demanded a large
deposit. “In the event of an accident between cities, a null is almost
impossible to locate. You’ll need to rent a satellite tracker for your buggy.”
What the stern clerk was really saying was that nulls couldn’t be trusted.
Nulls tended to lack empathy for other sentients, and no one could tell what
they were feeling. Normally when renting a vehicle, she listed whoever she was
with as primary driver to avoid any conflict. This was the first time she would
be traveling with another null.

The second problem was more subtle.
She filled out incidental paperwork while Max loaded the rear of the buggy. As
the last line on her driver information form, she read, “I swear that in the
last six months I have had no periods of fever, epilepsy, unconsciousness, or
blindness?”

The clerk shrugged. “We had an
outbreak of Crimson Fever. Customers would lose their sight and crash. People
would sue us, too. The lawyer had us add that language.”

Silly as it seemed, after her
incidents on the ship, she couldn’t sign the oath. “Oops.” She hit the Clear
button on the computer form. “The company is paying for this, and I filled in
everything wrong.” The second time, she put Max as the primary driver and
herself as an add-on. The add-on had no affidavit to sign.

“You a couple?” asked the clerk.

Roz blushed. “He hasn’t asked my
dad yet.”

The clerk folded the papers from
the printer and handed them over. “Put these in the glove box, and don’t let
him speed.”

“No, sir.”

She drove. The warning proved
unnecessary, as the buggy wouldn’t go above forty-five kilometers an hour. This
put a serious dent in her plan, as she had estimated a rate of a hundred for
the trip between cities. They would be on the road longer each day, and she
mentally cut the city with one marginal restaurant and no product deliveries
from the itinerary. Still, she and Max delivered two cases of geodes before
they broke for lunch.

That’s when things took another
unpleasant turn. Her number-one pick for restaurants was closed. As she rattled
the locked front door, a passerby asked, “Can I help you?”

Why don’t these people say what
they mean? A null like you must be trying to break in to steal something.
“Don’t they cook lunch anymore?” Roz asked politely.

“Sunday’s their biggest day,”
explained the local. “Church crowd. They take Mondays off.”

“Thanks,” Max said. “We’ll just
find another restaurant.”

The local man shook his head. “All
the good ones are closed today. Slowest day of the week. Only place you’re
likely to find open is the spaceport diner near the police station. They never
close.”

Roz couldn’t trust herself to
speak. Her jaw trembled with rage. Is he trying to protect his whole city from
her rampaging null gang?

Max sensed her ire and stepped
between them. “How’s the chow?”

“The eggs and coffee aren’t bad.”

Max grimaced. “Thanks.” He waved
good-bye.

Roz rested her head on the door.
“Crap. This throws what’s left of our schedule out of whack.”

“Who knew they rolled up all the
sidewalks in town on Mondays? We have time for a local chef tomorrow.”

“They don’t want
our kind
here,” Roz whispered angrily.

“Come on. I’ll buy you some eggs.
At least nobody’s going to steal our rig outside a cop diner.”

The diner in question had actual
newspapers for sale. Roz stared. “Why kill trees for this instead of an online
info burst?”

Max picked a paper up for a coin.
“You said yourself that infrastructure for advanced tech takes time. Besides,
can’t wrap a fish in my wrist computer. When in Rome …”

Seating themselves in a booth, they
waited for a waitress. Max flipped pages idly. “Plans are ramping up for the
sesquicentennial.”

“What?” asked Roz.

“A hundred fifty years since
founding,” explained a woman whose nametag read Mary Lou. “Going to be the
biggest cheese festival ever. What can I get you, deary?”

Max nodded to the slate over the
main counter. “Number two, over easy, with jam.”

He doesn’t miss much
. Roz,
who had been expecting a menu, fumbled. “Um … do you recommend the apple
pancakes with the side of hash browns or the potato pancakes with applesauce?”

“Most women order the salad,” said
the waitress.

So now I’m an overweight null?
“Yeah.
Most women don’t haul crates for a living. Give me the apple-pancakes meal and
the potato-stuffed sausage meal. Add a large chocolate milk to go with my slice
of peaches-and-cream pie.”

Max didn’t look up from his paper.
“The guild is talking about blocking milk sales to corporate worlds as part of
their trade sanctions against the Lunar Oligarchy.”

“Cutting off their own noses,” Roz
said to the wall of paper. With a grain embargo, the locals could make alcohol
or fuel with the excess. Not much one could do with extra milk. It sounded like
the farmers already had a surplus of cheese.

Betty Lou wrinkled her upper lip.
“The oligarchs have done nothing but exploit the colonies to squeeze out as
much profit as possible. They own all the ships. It’s been a fixed game for too
long. Once we have a ship of our own, they’ll see.”

Roz wanted to roll her eyes. This
backwater place didn’t even have a construction shipyard. Any local company
that mortgaged a ship from Jotunheim would side with the oligarchs to pay off
the loans as soon as possible. Earth would collapse if the colonies stopped
shipping food, and the ranchers’ families might suffer. No one would let that
happen. “Right. Are you blocking milk to this table, too, or just letting it
age?”

“I’ll make sure it’s extra fresh
for you,” said Mary Lou.

When the waitress was gone, Max
said, “She’s going to spit in your drink now. The whole idea was to blend in
and listen.”

Not the second date or dining
experience I was expecting.
The back page advertised something called a
“Meat Raffle,” along with books about Union conspiracies: hidden prophecies by
a secret forerunner race, how the oligarchs were manipulating the masses, and
who was behind last year’s drought in the south.
These people are so flaky
we should put them in a breakfast bowl.

By the time the food arrived, Roz
was calmer. The first thing she tried was a forkful of his eggs. Max guarded
his plate with an arm like a prison inmate. “Hey. You’re worse than the
Saurians.”

“Don’t be such a baby. You can have
anything of mine you want,” Roz said.

“I
ordered
what I wanted. I
don’t want any spit-in food.”

She took a deep drink of the
chocolate milk. “Ahh.”

“Gross. Let’s just hope you don’t
catch anything.”

“Or go blind,” she agreed, thinking
of the Crimson Fever.

“Huh?”

“After dinner, I’m going to teach
you how to drive.”

Max looked apprehensive. “I thought
we were going to check into the hotel. You’ve been all about having a nice, hot
soak for that sore arm of yours.”

“Yeah. We’ll be on the road a
little longer than I thought. We can get to a decent-sized town by sundown and
sleep there if we leave in the next half hour.”

“I guess. Can we wait till we’re
outside town first? I don’t want anyone to see me.”

The fragile male ego.
“Sure.”

He watched in disbelief as she
demolished half the meal. “What?” she asked. “It might be a while till our next
meal.”

When the waitress wasn’t looking,
Roz took sealable plastic bags out of her pocket for the rest of the meal, his
toast included.

“Um … is there something I should
know?”

“You ever go hungry?”

“Once, when I was four. Then I
learned to hunt and trap.”

Roz lowered her voice. “As migrant
workers, we ate twice a day, most days—a little bit of cold breakfast, usually
leftovers, and warm dinner once we finished the day’s quota. Normally we didn’t
eat till after dark. If we didn’t get back to camp in time, sometimes we went
hungry.”

“No wonder Jeeves likes you so
much. You carry food on you all the time?”

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“You’re not a kid anymore,” Max
said. “You don’t need to.”

“At university, the cafeteria would
close down for a week at a time for breaks and holidays. I didn’t have much
cash my freshman year, only what I earned from tutoring math. You should have
seen me at an all-you-can eat pizza place or buffet.”

“Intermittent reinforcement,” he
muttered.

“One semester, a roommate borrowed
my meal card and ran me out of money.”

“Didn’t they make your roommate
pay?”

“She dropped out. Seems she
attended more parties than classes. I had to work for building services for the
rest of the semester.” Seeing the pity in his face, she hardened. “It’s okay,
my dad always quoted the fable about the ant and the grasshopper. I bolted
together bookshelves and repaired heating systems, which paid much better and
more closely resembled my vocation than tutoring people who hated math.”

“You’re part of a team now. We
cover each other’s backs. We won’t let you starve.”

She stuffed the baggies into his
chilled suitcase of high-value samples. “God helps those who help themselves.”

Max smiled. “My grandfather would
counter with ‘the lilies of the field do not toil or spin, but Solomon in all
his glory was not arrayed in such as these.’”

Roz clicked the case shut. “Yeah,
where I come from, we know someone had to plant, water, weed, and fertilize
those lilies. Takes a lot of horse manure to look that nice.”

“Pretty much my opinion of
politics,” he replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

Even defensive and angry, she
smiled.

The mining complex at Mount Cornwallis employed the bulk of
the stone and gem artisans interested in the Eden geodes. Tuesday morning, Roz slept
in to nearly seven, well past her usual exercise regimen time. She had Max
drive until they reached the first sign of civilization and then took over for
him. Inside the sprawling city, he used the satellite device to give her
directions to each customer on her list. She also taught Max the proper use of
horn honking and shouts to encourage movement in others. They lifted cargo off
the back together so he wouldn’t hurt his back again. Only a few crates
remained by late afternoon, so they celebrated with lunch at
Le Viande
Braisé
, which loosely translated as lightly charred cow. She was ready for
a thick slab of rare beast.

While they waited for a table, Max
bought her a cherry soda with the ship’s credit voucher linked to the orbital
bank. The novelty of a man buying her a drink delighted her more than the soda
itself.

Max kept the sample suitcase by his
leg. He didn’t want someone smashing the rental’s windows to steal something so
valuable.

“We’ll check into our hotel after
this,” she promised. “Every inch of me is drenched in sweat. I had to take off
my bra in the bathroom. Feels good to get out of that thing.”

He choked on his beer, a local brew
that came highly recommended.

“Problem?” Roz asked.

“No,” he wheezed. “Just stronger
than I thought.”

Max showed their wares and passed
out cards for the wine auction to several well-heeled diners and the sommelier.
When the woman at the desk called their names, two burly men escorted them out
the side door by the dumpsters.

“You can’t refuse to serve us just
because we’re nulls,” Roz said. “We have rights.”

“We can refuse oligarchy spies,”
said one of the bouncers. They both had long, thin mustaches and looked enough
alike to be brothers.

I know local guild members hate
the oligarchy, but why would they think we work for those jerks?
Roz shook
her fist. “You take that back. I
earned
a scholarship from the Mercy
Llewellyn Foundation, and even though it wasn’t my first choice of assignment,
I worked like a dog to make chief engineer on Eden. I haven’t been a corporate
lapdog a day in my life!”

Gripping the metal suitcase like a
weapon, Max leaned close to the nearest man. “I’d do what she says. I’ve seen
her take out three guys your size.”

If it came to fisticuffs, she
didn’t want to see him get hurt or endanger the five thousand credits worth of
wine. This was the time for levelheaded diplomacy. “Max, stay out of this. I’ve
got it.”

The bouncers glanced at each other,
considering the boast.

The head waiter in a white tuxedo
emerged soon after to clear up matters. “Blue Claw Industries has a lien on
your ship. Their clan signed an exclusive trade agreement with Lunar Oligarchy
vessels.”

Roz shook her head. “Impossible.
All the Blue Claw Saurians left the ship at the last stop. That’s why the
captain had to hire me as a pilot.”

The waiter shrugged. “As long as
your ship is in a hostile relationship, businessmen who belong to the guild
won’t deal with you.”

Max snapped his fingers. “The
wergild. Six members of their clan died on Eden. They must want to be paid a
death benefit in restitution.”

“But they all died of natural
causes in the preserve,” Roz said. “They signed waivers.”

“Right. A simple mistake,” Max
insisted.

The head waiter held up both arms
and turned away. “Out of my hands.”

Roz said, “We have to eat.”

“There is a soup kitchen at the
church next door, corporate dog,” said the waiter.

Shrieking, Roz reached into the
trash to grab a roll slathered in red sauce. She threw it at the man’s back,
forming a red splotch on his immaculate suit.

Livid, the waiter examined the
damage and strode up to Max. “Since you cannot control your woman, I demand
satisfaction.”

“Calm down,” Max said. “I’m sure
she’ll be willing to apologize, and I’ll pay for the cleaning.”

Turning toward Roz, the waiter asked,
“Is there something Miss Mind-Mute would like to say?”

She sniffed her sauce-coated
fingers. “Your red sauce is ham-fisted, using garlic like a sledgehammer. I’m
glad you spared me the meal. All I need now is a towel.” She wiped her fingers
off on his lapels.

“Now I will see this whore wash the
stain out with my own eyes,” said the waiter. To punctuate the insult, he poked
her in the breast hard enough to leave a bruise.

Every other man in the area winced
as Roz kicked him in the groin so hard he hit the wall and collapsed. “Any
other takers?”

The brothers stared at the
doubled-over waiter, groaning in sympathy. Evidently, the jerk was broadcasting
pain through the Collective Unconscious.
Sometimes being a null is an
advantage. I could take out another thug before they react.

“Run,” Max said, reminding her of
his training sessions.

She followed him, mere paces ahead
of the muscle brothers, hitting the remote Start and Unlock buttons on her key.
However, when she reached the buggy, the rear tires were flat, preventing them
from fleeing.

Max held up both hands in
surrender.

When the police arrived, both Roz
and the waiter were arrested for assault.

****

Max met with Roz in a room with a single guard and a table
between their chairs. She had calmed down in the hours between. “When are you
going to spring me?”

“It’s complicated,” he replied.

Her mood improved further when Max
gave her the bag of leftovers. She barely slowed to say, “Told you we’d need
them,” before devouring the pancakes.

“Union law enforcement takes any
act of violence very seriously,” Max said. “Hell, the doctor who examined me
asked if I felt safe around you or if you beat me.”

She stopped chewing to grin. “What
did you tell them?”

“You’re a little quirky and bossy
but, other than that, a perfect partner.”

“Aw.”

“This isn’t easy to make go away.
Things have escalated. The locals ran your name through the system and found
the vehicular assault and theft charges in Eden. The rental company repossessed
our buggy. We’ll have to take the train back to the spaceport,” Max whispered.
When she started to react, he held up a hand. “Don’t worry about the
deliveries. I mailed the rest of the crates. Shipping didn’t amount to much
more than the rental and hotels would have.”

Roz pouted. “How will we find a
chef?”

“That mission has been canceled.
When the rental agency found minor damage to the buggy’s front end, they
started looking for people you might have run over. They think you’re a serial
killer.”

She giggled. “We did run over
cereal grains.” Max had swerved off the road into a wheat field.

“I explained that you leaned over
my lap when I was driving and caused me to lose control.” The guard grinned and
turned away. She started to object, and Max switched to Banker so the guard
wouldn’t understand. “Don’t correct me. If they find out I didn’t have a
license to operate that vehicle, I’ll end up in the cell next to yours.”

“Have Reuben hack their database
like he wanted to before.”

“He can’t hack a
paper trail
.
These guys aren’t advanced enough out here for computers. Once it’s in writing,
they don’t forget. Assault means psychological assessment and months of rehab.”

Roz glanced down at the empty food
bag on the tabletop. “I’m sorry. The added docking and legal fees would blow
the profits for this leg of the journey for everyone.”

Max shook his head. “They have
worse problems than that upstairs.”

“Like what. I know my way around
station politics.”

He refused to elaborate. “As I see
it, you have three options. I’ll start with the easiest. The arresting officer
likes your dolphin pin. He’s willing to lose his report if you give it to him.”

She clutched the bravery medal.
“Absolutely not.”

“It’s just a silly piece of metal.”

“
You
gave this to me, and …
I’m not going to give it up to some corrupt civil servant.”

“I was afraid of that. The judge is
willing to waive the disturbing-the-peace charge if you volunteer for community
service for a day side-by-side with the man you fought. It would demonstrate
repentance and the ability to work toward the good of the community. I’ve
spoken with Alphonse. After I paid his cleaning bill, he’s willing to drop the
charges if you drop yours and apologize to the chef of
Le Viande
.”

“The man is an unmitigated prick,”
Roz said, her voice escalating.

Max put out his hands and switched
back to English to ease the guard who was about to intervene. “Relax. The chef
is his boyfriend. He takes criticism very personally. You’d have your freedom,
and our company just has to post an obscenely large bond ensuring your behavior
until we leave the planet.”

“Hmph. We’ll see. What’s the last
option?”

Clearing his throat, Max muttered,
“Diminished capacity.”

“Excuse me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “As
your doctor, I could swear that the damage to your brain leaves you unsuited
for social situations. The charges would be dropped, but the label would go on
your permanent record. You’d need to be accompanied by a minder wherever you
went.”

The possibility turned her veins to
ice. When she could speak again, she said, “I think I’d rather go to trial. If
I’m lucky, the women on the jury will acquit me.”

He shook his head again. “We can’t
let that happen.”

“Why not?”

Glancing at the guard, he said in
Banker. “To confirm identity, DNA tests are taken along with fingerprints when
you’re booked. Theoretically, if they decided you were an active with a psi
talent, the penalty would be much harsher, including shock therapy or worse.”

“But I’m not.”

He silenced her with his stare.

She blinked. “How could I be?”

“They might record these sessions,”
he said flatly. “You need to trust me for now.”

“I do.” On reflection, she realized
how deep that trust went. None of the options appealed to her. When the guard
tapped his pocket watch, she felt panic. “What do you think I should do?”

“Apologize and clean graffiti. No
doubt the waiter was an ass, but pelting him with garbage? Maybe some
contemplation time can reduce the size of that chip on your shoulder. Next
time, the person pushing your buttons could have a blaster.”

Roz wanted to explain and defend
her actions, but he was willing to risk his ship to free her. “Then that’s what
I’ll do.”

He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

The anger and new questions buzzed
inside her as she returned to her cell.
Am I really that much of a hot head?

****

When Max escorted Roz back to the hotel, she almost burst
from the questions. The room was Spartan, with two twin beds and a private
bathroom. As he pushed her toward the bath, he handed her a special bar of soap
and a white plastic trash bag. “They’ve had some problems with lice in the
jail. Put all your clothes in there.”

Certain she could feel all manner
of creatures crawling on her, she agreed. After the bug soap, she washed again
with lavender shampoo. The soak in hot water was wonderful. In fact, she
escaped for so long that Max tapped on the door. “You okay?”

“Problems are waiting for me out
there.”

“So are answers.”

With a sigh, she drained the tub,
dried off, and pulled on the oversized, fluffy hotel robe. When she walked out,
she absently stroked the fabric. “This is so soft.”

He sat on his bed and gestured for
her to take a seat next to him on the bed where her suitcase rested. “Your
clothes will be back from the cleaners tomorrow morning. I didn’t want to take
any liberties with your other belongings.”

She brushed her hair until it
shined, reveling in the sensation of being clean.

“Alphonse’s boyfriend will see you
tonight,” he said. “Your community service starts tomorrow at noon.”

She caught him peeking at her
exposed shoulder, neck, and calves. She paused to consider the remote
possibility that he might be attracted to her. She felt a sense of power and
excitement akin to taking a new ship out for the first time. “An-any advice?”

“Stop assuming people are thinking
the worst of you. To do that, you need to accept that others see you as
accomplished, capable, and beautiful. Your injury doesn’t define you.”

His words poured over her like the
warm water had. The word “beautiful” thrilled her. She wanted to hug him, thank
him, and …
oh, crap
. She could do all that and more. Her breathing sped
up. She was sitting in a hotel room, nearly naked, next to a man whom she
liked. Her body tightened like a wire … with electricity running through.

He babbled on about the plight of
the ship. The lien with the Blue Claws would take at least eight days to
resolve via the ansible. Meanwhile, the farming guild filed a lawsuit
preventing
The Inner Eye
from selling grain to foreign merchants. Kesh
switched to selling the grain as robust non-genetically modified seed to the
local farmers, but that too had been blocked. As she picked out clean clothes,
Max’s eyes fixated on her behind. She took her time choosing in order to
confirm his interest. Now Kesh was trying to sell the grain through a loophole
as pig food. Blah, blah, blah.

“Everything still good?” Max asked
at her absent expression.

“Mmm,” Roz said noncommittally.
Should she let the robe drop? She hadn’t been able to do that in front of Echo,
a neutral. She could already hear the disapproval of her parents at sharing the
room unchaperoned. Her list for confession was growing uncomfortably long. If
she threw herself at Max even for a kiss and he refused, their relationship
would be damaged forever. Roz idly considered what her friend Ivy would do in
this situation. Hell, Ivy would use cuffs and whipped cream. Roz had never
experienced sex. When she did, she wanted to savor it slowly and respect
herself the next morning. He had to commit to her first, even if she was a
boring scoop of vanilla ice cream. Still, she gazed at his skin and fantasized
about honey mixed with chocolate syrup.