sachet.”
It’s lubricant of some sort, so I use that instead, slopping it around her and on me until she tells me it’s enough. And then I ease myself inside her and stay like that, for a count of a thousand, until Caliente asks if I’m okay.
“Fine,” I say.
Sometimes need is more complicated than it should be.
The girl lets me stay until morning, shares her breakfast when she realizes no plans have been made for me, and helps me shower, watching as I struggle back into my too-small uniform with its cutaway badges. If she has any more questions of her own, she keeps them to herself.
CHAPTER 10
P ARADISE IS FOUND at the end of the southern spiral. Don’t ask me how astronomers decided which arm of the spiral is north and which south. It was done years before I was born or it occurred to people how many habitable systems there are in a single galaxy. Several hundred years ago, in fact: long before our resident lunatics began arguing about who owns what.
Of course, back then the idea of simply shifting an uninhabitable planet into an orbit that made it habitable was still new and no one really had their heads around the physics, which are quite simple.
Writing to his cousin, a prince called Archimedes once boasted he could move whole worlds given the right tools. He was correct, just a few thousand years too early. Like most of my barroom facts, I have my old lieutenant to thank for that particular gem.
Below me a planet turns slowly, a ghostly white sphere with a sickly-looking sun in the far distance. I’m watching it through the window of a troop carrier that has been converted to a convict ship. This mostly seems to involve taking out all the walls and removing anything that might create an air of comfort.
We’re sitting in a long metal hold on metal benches. And the filters on the windows look like they gave up screening light for radioactive particles years ago.
“Paradise?”
The woman next to me nods.
I seem cursed by officers who pride themselves on having a sense of humor. As the convict ship gets closer, I can see a great expanse of cloud stretching from both poles and meeting in the middle. We are too high still for the sight of towns or cities.
Turning to the woman, I ask the obvious question. “Storms?”
She shakes her head. “Sheet ice,” she says. “Miles of it.”
“ Shithead, ” I say.
A dozen exiles turn to glare at me.
“Not you,” I tell the woman. “The general.”
“Which general?” asks a man.
And the woman shakes her head in warning.
“Jaxx,” I say. “General Indigo Fucking Jaxx.”
A hush falls along the row, and I realize that others have been listening in. “Know him personally, do you?” asks a man several seats along. He has one of those ratlike smiles you find on the faces of pimps just before they try to hand you the wrong change.
I flick him a scowl, and he’s the one who looks away. When I check again, his face is red and he’s chewing his bottom lip. I’ve made an enemy and we haven’t even landed.
“What’s the wildlife here?” I ask.
The rat-faced man laughs, nastily. “Wildlife?” he says. “This is Paradise, final destination for everybody on this ship.” He laughs again, then stares down at his feet, and I realize he’s doing his best not to cry.
“Well,” he adds, moments later. “Final destination for anyone traveling in the cheap seats.”
“It’s an ice planet,” the woman tells me. “Everything has to be freighted across. In the early days that included oxygen. Now they crack it from the ice. Use the spare hydrogen for fuel…And there are rumors that the dead end up as source material for the protein slabs.”
A man swears.
And she shrugs. “Just telling you what I’ve heard.”
The woman is old enough to be my sister. A good fifteen years older than me, with a tired face and bitter eyes and a flatness to her voice that speaks of someone on the edge of despair. She could even be my sister, with her
It’s lubricant of some sort, so I use that instead, slopping it around her and on me until she tells me it’s enough. And then I ease myself inside her and stay like that, for a count of a thousand, until Caliente asks if I’m okay.
“Fine,” I say.
Sometimes need is more complicated than it should be.
The girl lets me stay until morning, shares her breakfast when she realizes no plans have been made for me, and helps me shower, watching as I struggle back into my too-small uniform with its cutaway badges. If she has any more questions of her own, she keeps them to herself.
CHAPTER 10
P ARADISE IS FOUND at the end of the southern spiral. Don’t ask me how astronomers decided which arm of the spiral is north and which south. It was done years before I was born or it occurred to people how many habitable systems there are in a single galaxy. Several hundred years ago, in fact: long before our resident lunatics began arguing about who owns what.
Of course, back then the idea of simply shifting an uninhabitable planet into an orbit that made it habitable was still new and no one really had their heads around the physics, which are quite simple.
Writing to his cousin, a prince called Archimedes once boasted he could move whole worlds given the right tools. He was correct, just a few thousand years too early. Like most of my barroom facts, I have my old lieutenant to thank for that particular gem.
Below me a planet turns slowly, a ghostly white sphere with a sickly-looking sun in the far distance. I’m watching it through the window of a troop carrier that has been converted to a convict ship. This mostly seems to involve taking out all the walls and removing anything that might create an air of comfort.
We’re sitting in a long metal hold on metal benches. And the filters on the windows look like they gave up screening light for radioactive particles years ago.
“Paradise?”
The woman next to me nods.
I seem cursed by officers who pride themselves on having a sense of humor. As the convict ship gets closer, I can see a great expanse of cloud stretching from both poles and meeting in the middle. We are too high still for the sight of towns or cities.
Turning to the woman, I ask the obvious question. “Storms?”
She shakes her head. “Sheet ice,” she says. “Miles of it.”
“ Shithead, ” I say.
A dozen exiles turn to glare at me.
“Not you,” I tell the woman. “The general.”
“Which general?” asks a man.
And the woman shakes her head in warning.
“Jaxx,” I say. “General Indigo Fucking Jaxx.”
A hush falls along the row, and I realize that others have been listening in. “Know him personally, do you?” asks a man several seats along. He has one of those ratlike smiles you find on the faces of pimps just before they try to hand you the wrong change.
I flick him a scowl, and he’s the one who looks away. When I check again, his face is red and he’s chewing his bottom lip. I’ve made an enemy and we haven’t even landed.
“What’s the wildlife here?” I ask.
The rat-faced man laughs, nastily. “Wildlife?” he says. “This is Paradise, final destination for everybody on this ship.” He laughs again, then stares down at his feet, and I realize he’s doing his best not to cry.
“Well,” he adds, moments later. “Final destination for anyone traveling in the cheap seats.”
“It’s an ice planet,” the woman tells me. “Everything has to be freighted across. In the early days that included oxygen. Now they crack it from the ice. Use the spare hydrogen for fuel…And there are rumors that the dead end up as source material for the protein slabs.”
A man swears.
And she shrugs. “Just telling you what I’ve heard.”
The woman is old enough to be my sister. A good fifteen years older than me, with a tired face and bitter eyes and a flatness to her voice that speaks of someone on the edge of despair. She could even be my sister, with her
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