Starfall

Belt City Blues

A holo walks into a bar… Heard it before? But this is no joke. The bar is real, aboard an orbiting habitat, Belt City, in Orion 3645A, the G-type, A-half of a no-hope Outback double system. All one hundred percent real—even if the holo is not. Or rather, they were real. Bar, habitat, and double system all fell victim to a cosmic mishap. So don’t do a search for them in any updated Systems Guide.

But during the bar’s last months in business, a holo did come in. Not just any holo either, a virtual angel on a mercy mission off a ship named Nightingale. She had long silvery hair, a honey-sweet voice, caring eyes, and a cheerful absent smile. Being a holo, she did not drink, smoke, kiss, or pet. She had just come to Belt City a bit ahead of herself, to see and to be seen. Hoping to get picked up. Judge for yourself how she did.

Outside, people rioted. Belt City was already doomed, bringing civic functions to a halt. Somehow slidewalks ran and air got recycled, but little else got done. Anyone with a gram of sense—anyone who planned for their future—fought like hell to get aboard a ship headed outsystem.

Bypassing the jammed starport, the holo beamed straight to the Danse Macabre, on the Belt’s high-g level, timing her signal so that she stepped casually out of the wall. Less vulgar than flickering into being in some stranger’s face. And this holo hated being vulgar. She had serious things to do.

The upcoming end of the world had exploded the bar scene. If you’re doomed, don’t waste it. Worried about health or credit? That was for folks with hope. The whole double system had no future to fear or look forward to. People packed the Danse Macabre, so desperate for pleasure that even a holo could turn heads. In fact, being an offworlder was a plus. A ticket outsystem had become the ultimate aphrodisiac. Which was one reason why she projected herself wearing ship’s clothes, the sort of loose tasteful outfit supplied to passengers. With the Nightingale’s starbird-in-flight logo at her throat, she just had to stand and survey the scene to get immediate attention.

“Hey, you’re looking awfully adequate.”

The holo turned slowly. The guy accosting her was flesh-and-blood, and looking pretty adequate as well, with dark eyes, biosculpted cheekbones, and long insolent lashes. He wore a torso-suit of clinging chrome fabric, leaving no room for imagination. “New to the Belt?” he asked. “I’m called Anton.”

Speed-of-light delay made her take her time answering—as if she were overly thoughtful, or not too swift. Nightingale was still over a light-second out. “Tiffany,” she told him. “Tiffany Panic.”

Anton grinned. “Great name.”

She thanked him gravely. “My parents’ idea.”

“So, are you slow-witted? Or just somewhere far away?”

Tiffany gave a lazy shrug. “You know what they say about blondes.” She liked his boldness. Anton looked good, even from half a million klicks. But Tiffany had not come looking for the usual you-show-me-I’ll-show-you virtual date.

“Incoming or outgoing?”

“Incoming.”

“Headed where?” Anton looked her over, trying to gauge how much of what he saw was real. Hard to tell with a holo. “Maybe I can get you there.”

“Maybe you could.” Tiffany very much needed someone to get her where she had to go. Anton might be that someone—he sure acted like he was. Her sensors agreed. Heartbeat, voice modulation, GSR, and pupil dilation all told her Anton was more than willing, thoroughly interested in her. Ready to take risks.

“You name it, I’ve been there. From Belt City to the edge of the Beyond.”

“It’s not technically insystem,” Tiffany admitted.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Where is it?”

“Floreal.”

Anton’s face fell. Indicators tumbled. He glanced at the packed bar beyond her, unconsciously searching for something better. Turning back to Tiffany, his smile had shrunk several centimeters. “So, how about your berth outsys-tem?” Clearly she would not be needing it.

“Only if you get me to Floreal.”

Anton took his act elsewhere. Tiffany attracted more attention, but interest faded whenever she mentioned Floreal. The better they looked, the faster the brush-off. She started feeling like damaged goods, too deranged even for a dying system.

The Danse Macabre lived up to its name. Distracted dancers jerked listlessly, like broken toys, mimicking offworld steps light years out-of-date, all to local lyrics. “Got no feeling, got no future, got no where to go…” No outrage, no remorse, just old news.

Tiffany watched a couple dancing in place. The boy was a Choctaw, in leather and body paint, head half-shaved, hair pulled to the side. His gaze stayed hard, casing the bar over his girlfriend’s bare shoulder, keeping his thigh moving between her legs. His girl was young, a slinky-haired waif, looking wise and woebegone, growing up ahead of her time. Matching her boyfriend’s indifferent movements, she molded to his body, laying her head on his shoulder, wrapping a leg around his calf. Losing herself in him. Knowing her odds against getting to adulthood were just shy of astronomical.

Tiffany’s heart went out to her. She had been to hardluck systems before, but she could not look at that sad-eyed girl without desperately hoping to even the odds. Even holos could feel. Sometimes.

“No luck, honey?”

Tiffany turned again. She faced a woman this time, very much in the flesh, with a wild mane of red hair and fine worry lines around her eyes. Maybe twice as old as she looked, she wore a v-shaped jacket with a plunging neckline, held in place by enhanced anatomy. Her half-boots had steel toes. Glitter pants looked sprayed on.

Tiffany nodded slowly. No sense denying the obvious.

“I can get you to where you want to go.” The redhead said it like she meant it. Sensors agreed.

“Floreal?”

“Sure. If that is where you aim to be.” Fancy pants did not think much of that destination. Nobody did. She flicked open a silver compact with a lacquered nail, extracting a mildly narcotic cigarette. Snapping the compact shut, she shoved it into a big purse matching her jacket. “No sweat.”

“How?” Tiffany felt cautious optimism. Sensors said the top-heavy redhead in a plunging jacket and sprayed-on pants was telling the truth. Or at least believed that she was.

“I’ve got a friend.” She tapped the cigarette against the bar and it lit itself. She took a long drag, then blew sweet opiated smoke through Tiffany. “Call me Faith.”

“Tiffany. Tiffany Panic.”

“So I hear. Where you beamed from?”

“Rescue ship Nightingale. Inbound for Belt City, half a million klicks out. ETA 01:53:20 tomorrow A.M.”

“Glad to meet you.” Sensors said that was the truth. Faith was delighted to have found Tiffany. She nodded at the door. “Let’s go.”

Tiffany followed her out. Faith hopped a slow slidewalk headed spinward, and set off in the direction of motion, using long thigh-showing strides. Tiffany followed in her wake, until the moving strip got too crowded, forcing Faith to hold up.

A trio of topknotted Jutes, two boys and a girl, blocked further progress, sitting atop a pile of cartons, mostly stolen holocams and headsets. Farther down the slidewalk a family had set up housekeeping. Belt City was full to bursting with newcomers fleeing the smaller habitats. Gray tubeway slid slowly past, broken by bar fronts and holo arcades. People got on and off.

One of the Jutes called out, “What will you give for a super-V synthesizer?”

“Never been used,” his buddy boasted.

“Newly boosted,” the girl added hopefully.

Faith took a disinterested drag, shifting her purse to the far side of her body. Turning toward Tiffany, she kept watch on the Jutes out the corner of her eye. No wonder she had worry lines. The disaster overtaking the double system was not even Faith’s most pressing problem. A lot of folks would never live to see doomsday.

Both boys got up and sauntered over, leaving the girl to watch their loot. She was leashed to the slidewalk by a chrome chain. Faith’s free hand slid inside her purse.

“You could have fun with a top of the line synthesizer,” the first Jute suggested. He wore broad black and green vertical body stripes, matching his half-tights and black leather codpiece.

“We could all have fun,” his buddy added. He passed a hand through Tiffany and both of them laughed. “Your friend can watch.”

Tiffany felt helpless. All she could do was watch. She was a trained diplomat, but appealing to their better natures seemed pointless, especially when she talked like a half-wit. Distance and speed-of-light lag made her reactions impossibly slow. Like living in slow mode, with the signal of f-sync. Looking about, she saw the slidewalk rapidly empty—aside from the huddled family, who clearly had nowhere to go. Kids peeked out from behind their elders, staring wide-eyed at what was about to happen. Police protection had become wildly intermittent. Faith had to field this on her own.

The Jutes edged in. “Look, if you are saving yourself for someone better—don’t bother.”

“It’s now or never.” His buddy patted a spitshined codpiece. Belt City had gone way beyond being a waking nightmare, becoming the adolescent dream come true—no jobs, no cops, no future, school out for good, and everything free for the taking.

A black-green hand seized Faith’s sleeve, “Let’s see what’s holding up that jacket.”

Faith sighed, took a last drag on her dopestick, then flicked the butt in the nearest Jute’s face. He staggered back. Her hand came out of her purse holding a professional-strength repellent can. Thumbing the nozzle to wide-angle spray, she doused them both.

Instantly they doubled up, gagging and writhing, eyes clinched in blind agony. Two steel-toed kicks sent them sprawling. Limbs spasming, they flopped about doing dry heaves, weeping and coughing on the slidewalk. Holding a hand over his face, one struggled to his knees, waving her off. “Shit, lady. It was just a suggestion.”

“Then take that as a no.” Faith kept the can between her and them. The girl left with their goods laughed out loud. Except for the leash, and a ring in her navel, she dressed just like the boys who owned her—minus the codpiece. Pert young nipples showed through her paint.

Tiffany whistled softly, “Well done.” Unsure how she would have handled the two thugs, she felt frightened at what she was getting into. Diplomatic training made her too diffident. Too willing to see the other side. It was not too late to back out. She was still only a holo.

Faith shrugged. “I’m trying not to make a career of it.”

They got off at the first spoke. A lift took them to the Belt’s low-g hub. The insystem side of the hub seemed deserted, especially compared to the packed starport. Faith thumbed a rental locker. The door sprang open, and she exchanged her purse for a vacuum suit. Suiting up, she told a nearby lock to cycle.

Tiffany entered the lock as is. Being a holo, she was not concerned about lack of oxygen, or drops in pressure. The lock cycled, and Faith stepped out onto the outside of the hub, telling her boots to grip.

So far Tiffany had seen and heard through sensors built into the fabric of Belt Cit—the same holocams and readouts that projected her moving image. Beyond the lock lay empty space. She could still hear through Faith’s suit comlink, but cams were few and far between. Her image flickered out as soon as Faith left the lock.

Fortunately, the vast empty void outside never changed much. Even from aboard the Nightingale, a light-second away, Tiffany knew what Faith was seeing. She saw it herself. Orion 3645A sat at the ragged edge of a dense star cluster. Suns blazed down from all directions, backlit by the Orion Nebula, great neon fingers of gas stretching across the light years. Inside them, yet more stars were being born.

Upsun from the hub hung the lesser half of the double system, Orion 3645B, a red dwarf. The biggest star in the sky was a white giant, Orion 4673, rushing insystem at phenomenal speed. In less than two standard years, this speeding giant would slam through the double system, tearing it apart. Projections showed that the white giant would strip away Orion 3645A’s planets and companion. Giant and red companion would spin off in one direction, forming a new double system, Orion 4673AB. Orion 3645 would ricochet away at a right angle, becoming a lone G-type star.

By then, Belt City and every other habitable part of the double system would be torn to pieces by tidal forces. Anyone who could not get away would be spaced or fried.

Faith strapped herself into a chemical scooter sitting by the lock. Plugging her suit connections into the seat back, she engaged the gyros, adjusted engine attitude, then fired the thrusters. The scooter surged off toward the sea of stars.

“Following me?” Faith asked.

“Five-by-five.” Tiffany did not have to project a holo image to keep track of the scooter.

Down orbit from the hub lay a ship graveyard—everything from gutted hulks to perfectly good low-boost ships, abandoned because they could not get outsystem ahead of the maelstrom. The stellar deviation that doomed the double system had been discovered long ago. But when doomsday was centuries off, few had cared. Only when it was decades away did people start to panic. By then it was clear there would never be enough ship-space to evacuate everyone. Even with death hanging over their heads, people reproduced faster than ships could be built.

The scooter passed ship after ship, huge mass-drivers, little one-seat fliers, spider-like landers, spherical cargo ships, and orbital shuttles. Anything with a hope of making it outsystem was long gone. Faith decelerated. Drawing even with a fancy low-boost orbital yacht, she gave a last tap with her thrusters, bringing the scooter to a stop. Archangel was stenciled on the sleek hull.

“Turn on the sensors,” Faith signaled. “We’ve got a guest.” She docked the scooter, and entered, Tiffany’s holo image materializing beside her in the lock. The inner door opened.

Opulence was Tiffany’s first impression. The Archangers saloon-galley had the look and smell of tooled leather, reflected in infinite depth by deck-to-ceiling mirrors. Picasso pen-and-inks were spaced around the upholstered bulkheads—strong simple line drawings of women and bulls. Not prints or holos, but originals brought across a thousand light years, preserved under glass since the late pre-Atomic.

Beneath one of them sat a small black-haired young woman, with her back to the leather covered bulkhead. She had an alert look in her dark lively eyes. Leaping up as they entered, she laughed and asked, “Who’s the holo?”

Faith unsealed her suit. “Her name is Panic. Tiffany Panic. She’s not as slow as she seems—just a ways off.”

Tiffany gave an apologetic shrug. Being a holo was harder than it looked. Stripping off her v-suit, Faith grinned, “Tiffany, meet Miko.” She gave the suit to Miko, getting a kiss in return.

Miko had a round smiling face, long black hair hanging down to her hips, and white soft-looking skin. Barefoot and nearly naked, she wore broad stretch fabric bands at the breasts and hips, dark material that moved with her, molding to her tiny body. A body so small she had to stand on tiptoes to reach Faith’s lips. She hung the v-suit in the empty lock.

“Well, what do you think of her?” Faith asked.

“Do you mean the ship?” For a moment Tiffany had thought Faith meant Miko.

Faith and Miko nodded together, waiting for her answer.

“I’m amazed,” Tiffany admitted, dazzled by the Archangers Aladdin’s Cave interior. As plush as the saloon looked, it was still a working part of the spacecraft. It abutted the main air lock, and an auto-galley and wine cellarette stood at the far end, waiting to serve. But the adjacent stateroom was pure living quarters, decked with a shaggy green carpet of dwarf bluegrass. Smelling like spring.

“Right,” Faith agreed. “But beneath the glitter, she’s just an insystem yacht, with a simple fusion-reaction drive. She’ll get you to Floreal—in style—but she hasn’t got the legs to go outsystem.” Which was why she had been abandoned, along with her priceless Picassos.

Miko looked confused, then stricken. Falling silent, she stared down at her toes, her excitement punctured. Tiffany watched her go from being a bouncy young woman, happy to show off her ship, to looking like a criminal facing capital sentence.

A lot was happening beneath the surface, and Tiffany could not entirely trust the ship’s sensors to separate truth from fiction. Heartbeat, GSR, and voice modulation could be faked, given the proper programming. She had to gamble on her own judgment. “And what do you want in return?”

“Your ticket outsystem.” Faith said it lightly, but she might well have asked for keys to the galaxy. It was what everyone wanted. That much was very believable.

Tiffany turned to Miko. “And what about you?”

The small woman shrugged. “I go with the ship.” Her hangdog look said that she was hardly likely to be lying.

“She’s the pilot,” Faith explained. “I inherited this ship from a friend. A good friend. But when you are done—when she’s taken you to Floreal—I want Miko to have the ship. She deserves it.” Faith was one of those people who found friends in all the right places. Friends that were about to send her outsystem.

“And that’s all right with you?” Tiffany wanted to hear Miko say it. Floreal was a sealed-off habitat in the lesser half of the double system, 3645B. A cosmic dead end, orbiting a nameless red dwarf in a system set to be demolished. Going there would take time, time that would be far better spent trying to get outsystem. Whatever Miko’s chances were of surviving, going to Floreal made them a lot slimmer. Ship or no ship. In a similar situation, Anton and a dozen like him had shrugged, turned, and not looked back.

Miko glanced from Tiffany to Faith, then back at her bare toes, her anguished look too awfully real to be an act. “Of course. I can take you to Floreal.” She looked up at Tiffany, forcing on a smile. “Sure, good-looking. Whatever you say. If you are hollow-headed enough to want to go, then I’m the girl to get you there.” Miko meant it.

Tiffany liked her already, even trusted her some, though they were meeting under trying circumstances. Miko had a no nonsense “do the right thing” attitude—even if it cost her. Also a touch of gallows humor, always a plus on a kamikaze mission. But did Tiffany dare make life and death decisions based on like, or trust? Well, it wasn’t as if she were being deluged with counter offers. Miko was the only one not to take one look and walk. Tiffany had yet to set foot in this screwed-over system, and already she had to stake everything on hope and intuition.

She turned back to Faith. “You’re in luck. All I’ve got to offer is my return berth on the Nightingale, leaving as soon as she can load.” To keep a starship insystem a second longer than necessary would incite mayhem.