constant housecleaning everywhere you’ve been, keep the mimints from creeping back in. They’re talking about another decade minimum before they can start resettlement. And I’ll tell you, Micky, personally I think even that’s crabshit optimism, strictly for public consumption.”
“Come on. New Hok isn’t so big.”
“Well, spot the fucking offworlder.” She stuck out her tongue in a gesture that had more Maori challenge about it than childishness. “Might not be big by your standards—I’m sure they’ve got continents fifty thousand klicks across where you’ve been. Around here it’s a little different.”
I smiled. “I’m
from
here, Sylvie.”
“Oh yeah. Newpest. You said. So don’t tell me New Hok’s a small continent. Outside of Kossuth, it’s the biggest we’ve got.”
In actual fact, there was more landmass contained in the Millsport Archipelago than either Kossuth or New Hokkaido, but as with most of the island groups that made up the bulk of Harlan’s World’s available real estate, a lot of it was hard-to-use, mountainous terrain.
You’d think, given a planet nine-tenths covered in water and a solar system with no other habitable biospheres, that people would be
careful
with that real estate. You’d think they’d develop an intelligent approach to land allocation and use. You’d think they wouldn’t fight stupid little wars over large areas of useful terrain, wouldn’t deploy weaponry that would render the theater of operations useless to human habitation for centuries to come.
Well,
wouldn’t
you?
“I’m going to bed,” slurred Sylvie. “Busy day tomorrow.”
I glanced across at the windows. Outside, dawn was creeping up over the Angier lamp glow, soaking it out on a blotter of pale gray.
“Sylvie, it is tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” She got up and stretched until something cracked. On the lounger, Jadwiga mumbled something and unkinked her limbs into the space Sylvie had vacated. “ ’loader doesn’t lift till lunchtime, and we’re pretty much stowed with the heavy stuff. Look, you want to crash, use Las’s room. Doesn’t look like he’s coming back. Left of the bathroom.”
“Thanks.”
She gave me a faded smile. “Hey, Micky. Least I can do. G’night.”
“ ’Night.”
I watched her wander to her room, checked my timechip, and decided against sleep. Another hour, and I could go back to Plex’s place without disturbing whatever Noh dance his yakuza pals were wound up in. I looked speculatively at the kitchen space and wondered about coffee.
That was the last conscious thought I had.
Fucking synth sleeves.
CHAPTER FOUR
The sound of hammering woke me. Someone chemically too far gone to remember how to operate a flexdoor, reverting to Neanderthal tactics.
Bang, bang, bang.
I blinked eyes gone gummy with sleep and struggled upright in the lounger. Jadwiga was still stretched out opposite, still comatose by the look of it. A tiny thread of spit ran out of the corner of her mouth and dampened a patch on the lounger’s worn belacotton covering. Across at the window, bright sunlight streamed into the room and turned the air in the kitchen space hazy with luminescence. Late morning, at least.
Shit.
Bang,
bang.
I stood, and pain flashed rustily up my side. Orr’s endorphins seemed to have leached out while I slept.
Bang, bang, bang.
“
Fuck
is that?” yelled someone from an inner room.
Jadwiga stirred on the lounger at the sound of the voice. She opened one eye, saw me standing over her, and thrashed rapidly into some kind of combat guard, then relaxed a little as she remembered me.
“Door,” I said, feeling foolish.
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. “I hear it. If that’s fucking Lazlo forgotten his code again, he’s looking for a boot in the crotch.”
The banging at the door had stopped, presumably at the sound of voices from within. Now it started up again. I felt a jagged twinge in the side of my head.
“Will
someone
fucking
answer
“Come on. New Hok isn’t so big.”
“Well, spot the fucking offworlder.” She stuck out her tongue in a gesture that had more Maori challenge about it than childishness. “Might not be big by your standards—I’m sure they’ve got continents fifty thousand klicks across where you’ve been. Around here it’s a little different.”
I smiled. “I’m
from
here, Sylvie.”
“Oh yeah. Newpest. You said. So don’t tell me New Hok’s a small continent. Outside of Kossuth, it’s the biggest we’ve got.”
In actual fact, there was more landmass contained in the Millsport Archipelago than either Kossuth or New Hokkaido, but as with most of the island groups that made up the bulk of Harlan’s World’s available real estate, a lot of it was hard-to-use, mountainous terrain.
You’d think, given a planet nine-tenths covered in water and a solar system with no other habitable biospheres, that people would be
careful
with that real estate. You’d think they’d develop an intelligent approach to land allocation and use. You’d think they wouldn’t fight stupid little wars over large areas of useful terrain, wouldn’t deploy weaponry that would render the theater of operations useless to human habitation for centuries to come.
Well,
wouldn’t
you?
“I’m going to bed,” slurred Sylvie. “Busy day tomorrow.”
I glanced across at the windows. Outside, dawn was creeping up over the Angier lamp glow, soaking it out on a blotter of pale gray.
“Sylvie, it is tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” She got up and stretched until something cracked. On the lounger, Jadwiga mumbled something and unkinked her limbs into the space Sylvie had vacated. “ ’loader doesn’t lift till lunchtime, and we’re pretty much stowed with the heavy stuff. Look, you want to crash, use Las’s room. Doesn’t look like he’s coming back. Left of the bathroom.”
“Thanks.”
She gave me a faded smile. “Hey, Micky. Least I can do. G’night.”
“ ’Night.”
I watched her wander to her room, checked my timechip, and decided against sleep. Another hour, and I could go back to Plex’s place without disturbing whatever Noh dance his yakuza pals were wound up in. I looked speculatively at the kitchen space and wondered about coffee.
That was the last conscious thought I had.
Fucking synth sleeves.
CHAPTER FOUR
The sound of hammering woke me. Someone chemically too far gone to remember how to operate a flexdoor, reverting to Neanderthal tactics.
Bang, bang, bang.
I blinked eyes gone gummy with sleep and struggled upright in the lounger. Jadwiga was still stretched out opposite, still comatose by the look of it. A tiny thread of spit ran out of the corner of her mouth and dampened a patch on the lounger’s worn belacotton covering. Across at the window, bright sunlight streamed into the room and turned the air in the kitchen space hazy with luminescence. Late morning, at least.
Shit.
Bang,
bang.
I stood, and pain flashed rustily up my side. Orr’s endorphins seemed to have leached out while I slept.
Bang, bang, bang.
“
Fuck
is that?” yelled someone from an inner room.
Jadwiga stirred on the lounger at the sound of the voice. She opened one eye, saw me standing over her, and thrashed rapidly into some kind of combat guard, then relaxed a little as she remembered me.
“Door,” I said, feeling foolish.
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. “I hear it. If that’s fucking Lazlo forgotten his code again, he’s looking for a boot in the crotch.”
The banging at the door had stopped, presumably at the sound of voices from within. Now it started up again. I felt a jagged twinge in the side of my head.
“Will
someone
fucking
answer
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