A Planet For Emily

CHAPTER TWO

The cold air of the dome hit Suzanne as she emerged from the bar into one of the narrow, enclosed alleys that served as streets in that colony. Rods was waiting for her, hands thrust deep in his coat pockets.

“’bout time you came.”

“Sorry. I just had a last word with Matt. Said I didn’t have to worry about the bar bill. That was nice of him.” Suzanne smiled, thinking that she had found common ground with Rods in praising Matt.

“Nice, porcine rear end,” was Rods’ bitter response. “He stuck me with your tab. No wonder he was so keen for me to take you on.”

“Oh!” was all Suzanne could think to say.

“Give your bag to Igor,” he said, jerking his thumb at a short, stocky figure that Suzanne now realized had been standing by the door. The figure was dressed improbably in a trench coat that reached almost to the ground and a hat that gave it a passing resemblance to an actor in an old film about detectives. “Igor, this is our new cruise director.”

“Another cruise director?”

“Don’t you start.”

The figure turned towards Suzanne, raising one arm to take her bag. The newly appointed cruise director opened her mouth to give a cheery greeting to this new person but stopped when she realized that Igor was a robot. Its face was a metal mask with two big lenses for eyes and a speaker for a mouth. The hand which took her bag with ease had three fingers and a thumb, covered by a glove. She had dealt with machines all her life, as everyone had, but had never met an autonomous robot before. There were so many people on Earth Station that there had been no need for them.

“Hello Igor.” It seemed the only thing to say.

“Hello cruise director,” said Igor formally, in a youngish male voice. “I am Igor - Integrated Ground Operating Robot. I go behind Rods in this dome. Other places I go in front.”

“Oh, that’s… nice.” Again, it was all Suzanne could think of to say.

“Stop gabbing you two and come.”

Rods stalked off down the alley.

Suzanne was very tired, extremely hungry, and quite curious about what she was meant to do as cruise director. But for now, all she could do was follow Rods, walking beside Igor as Rods did not seem to want company.

“Is it far to the ship?” she asked Igor.

“Not far. At the port.”

“It is cold.”

“Yes, cold.”

The robot was not a sparkling conversationalist, but Suzanne thought that Rods’ conversation would be no better. They walked down the alley into the slightly wider alley that served as the main thoroughfare. She thrust her hands deep into her pockets and shivered. On one corner, underneath the ‘to spaceport’ sign was a tall, bearded man who smiled nastily at them.

“Druggie!” he said. “Hey, druggie.”

Rods stiffened, then shook his head slightly and moved on. The bearded man, who was taller, wider and grimmer looking than Suzanne’s new employer, stepped in front of Rods.

“Ben are we really going to do this again?” said Rods. “You know what happened last time.”

“Druggie! So where are your drugs, eh?”

Suzanne noted with alarm that there were two more, rough looking men behind the tall man. One was carrying a short club that looked like the leg of a stool. The other was eyeing her. Rods noticed them too.

“Igor front,” he said, without turning around, “face the two men there”. The trader pointed. Igor dropped Suzanne’s bag and edged around the tall man, who eyed the robot curiously, to square up to the other two men. They also did not know quite what to make of Igor, but the club man taped his weapon on his open hand meaningfully.

“So, what’s this about, Ben?” said Rods to the bearded man. “You planning on getting lucky this time?”

“Any time druggie,” said the big man, and he lashed out at Rods. Suzanne barely saw the motion, but Rods moved his head slightly and Ben’s fist struck air. At the same time, the two men in front of Igor lunged, intending to brush the robot to one side. The first man smashed his improvised club on Igor’s hat with an audible clunk, but the robot’s only response was to clamp his hand around his assailant’s wrist and keep it there. The other man tried to shove past the robot, but Igor grabbed his wrist as well and held on despite desperate pulling and shoving, causing the robot’s servomotors to whine audibly. A rain of blows from the club had no noticeable effect.

While Igor was delaying the support squad, Ben tried two more swings, which also hit air. Rods conceded a little ground, leading Ben on, and then hit him twice on the jaw making him stagger. The trader jumped forward, drove another blow home just above the heart, and another on the jaw. His opponent keeled over. Rods caught him before his head hit the alleyway’s concrete floor then lowered him, none too gently, the rest of the way. He stepped over Ben and pulled up the big man’s jacket and shirt.

“Hey, what?” said Ben groggily. He tried to push Rods away. The trader thumped him hard on the side of the head and then tore a square piece of metal from the man’s clothing.

“Plate steel,” said Rods stepping away and rapping the piece of metal. “I thought your stomach looked weird - and you were really confident. A steel plate right where I belted you last time. You were hoping I’d break my hand.” Rods waved the plate in front of Ben who was in no condition to listen. “It’s not that easy, my friend.”

The other two men had stopped struggling after their champion had gone down.

“Igor, release them. Behind me.”

The stocky robot obligingly walked away, while his opponents glared uncertainly at Rods, to pick up Suzanne’s bag and stand by her again.

“Are you alright?” asked Suzanne.

The robot looked up at her – he was a little shorter than the new cruise director – and his face might have registered surprise if it had been capable of displaying emotion.

“Fine,” he said.

“Were you hurt when they hit you?”

“No… armored.”

Another man arrived from behind Ben’s two assistants. He was thickset, his balding head hidden under a peaked cap, and he carried a badge prominently on the vest pocket of his coat. The club man hurriedly dropped his weapon.

“Stan!” said Rods. “My friends and I were just having some fun.”

“So, I see,” said the newcomer. “Geoff, pick up that whatever it is, and toss it over here.”

Geoff picked up the club he had just dropped without comment and tossed it to the lawman, who put it against the side of the wall at an angle and stomped on it, smashing it in two. He threw the pieces back.

“You know the rules,” he told Geoff. “Lucky for you I can’t be bothered with any paperwork tonight. Now, what about Ben there? It’s too cold for a nap.”

“We were having a friendly tussle.”

“Is he still breathing?”

“Yep.”

“Shame! You two,” said Stan to the two men who were sidling away, “take Ben back to his cubicle”.

“Bane of my life, that man,” muttered Stan, as Ben was dragged past, having recovered enough to glare at the trader and police officer. “What’s that bit of metal, you’ve got?” He nodded at the plate Rods had taken from Ben.

“Just something for repairs to Igor.”

“And you’re carrying it here?”

“I get enthusiastic,” said Rods handing the plate to Igor who put it in a pouch concealed in his trench coat. “What brings you down here, anyway? You hear Ben was prowling around?”

“It wasn’t that. I got a complaint about a young woman stealing a coat from a remainder bin.”

Both men turned to look at Suzanne who was doing her best to hide behind Igor.

“The missing coat is black, I am told. The same color as the coat worn by that young lady.”

Rods sighed. “My new cruise director.”

“Another cruise director?”

“Everyone’s a critic. Matt forced her on me. Her sister was in the Dawn Treader. She teaches English. Her mum was a high school principal, dad was a captain in the navy. He says I need to go respectable.”

“That’s right, he asked me about it, and I agreed.” Stan jabbed his index finger at Rods. “I also come down to tell you the same thing. You and The Max are key here; vital even, and times are hard. A few of the traders asked me to speak to you about Sylvia.”

“A few?”

“Well, all of them. Time to stop recruiting from Stacey’s and keep your hands off the cruise directors. Matt said this girl, the one behind Igor I take it, has personality.”

“So much so that he stuck me with her bar bill.”

“See, she’s already helping trade here. Now if we can work out this problem of the coat.”

They both looked at Suzanne who was trying to pretend she wasn’t there, and that she wasn’t freezing.

Rod sighed. “All of them?”

“Had a meeting. Everyone was happy to hear that she’d fallen from favor. She is somewhere far away from here?”

“Mining colony; Ozarks III.”

“She might’ve preferred my jail. She had confederates?”

“Maybe she did, but I wouldn’t concern yourself over the details.”

“Uh-huh. A lot of police work is details. Are those details going to be a problem in the future?”

“Doubt it. They’ve moved on a long way, as I understand it.”

“Not sure I want to know any more.”

“I wasn’t planning on saying anything more.”

“Whatever – now the coat.”

“The traders had a meeting about Sylvia?” said Rods.

“Everyone complained.”

Rods sighed again. “Tell ’em I’ll stick with Suzanne - that’s her name. Whose coat is it?”

“Jenny’s.”

“Jenny! She owes me money. Tell her to take the cost of the jacket off the amount owed and we’ll settle up next time around. Once she hears that she’ll shut up.”

Stan shrugged. “Problem solved. You leaving now? With Sylvia out of the way, Caitlin will want you for dinner. The invitation would extend to Suzanne.”

“I’m in no mood to be told anything more about Sylvia. Next time round, I’ll be happy to. But that reminds me.” He took a small parcel out of his greatcoat pocket. “I was going to leave this at the port office for you and Caitlin. It’s medicine for William’s skin.”

Stan ripped open the package, read the box’s label and nodded.

“How much do we owe you?”

“Invoice is in the package. I talked them down to a 10 per cent mark up.”

“Stars!” said Stan after seeing the amount. “We don’t have this just now.”

“Let’s sort it out when I swing by again; there may be a discount for dinner. May not be for more than a week.”

“Done.”

Stan walked up to an apprehensive looking Suzanne and touched his cap. “Congratulations on your new job, Madam.” Suzanne’s apprehensive look turned into a sweet smile. “I’m Stan Williams, colony police officer. If you do have any trouble with Rods,” he said loudly, “you can come to me”.

“Oh great,” muttered Rods.

“Thank you,” said Suzanne then scuttled after Rods who had stalked off. “Nice to meet you.”

Officer Stan waved.

Suzanne’s first impression of the James Clerk Maxwell was of the spaceship’s size. She had been traveling in star ships for weeks but had been literally herded onto each vessel and then held in cramped quarters, forbidden to go beyond a set area. She had never seen the outside of the ships. But the docking airlock which connected to the Maxwell was partly transparent. Suzanne could see she was to be a cruise director, whatever that might mean, of a grey ship that was three stories tall and maybe 150 meters long. She craned her head to try to read the markings on the side.

Rods gave her no time to take in the sights. He punched in a key code, took a retinal scan and led them into a narrow airlock.

“Incoming Max,” Rods called out. “A new cruise director.”

“So soon!” The voice was female.

“Will everyone stop commenting. Her name is Suzanne Clark. We’ll clear her, then you can brief her on her duties.”

“Very well.”

“Was that the ship AI?” asked Suzanne.

“This ship is the James Clerk Maxwell – scientist who first wrote out the equations for electromagnetic waves - so the AI is Max. Now…” He unhooked a folding table from the bulkhead and banged it down in front of Suzanne so hard that she jumped, then pulled a screen on an extendable arm out of the bulkhead. “One of the main concerns of my life is people trying to jack the ship.”

“You mean pirate the ship?”

“We say jacking and I’m not just crazy about the issue I’m full-blown paranoid and I’m in a bad mood, and the last person to try jacking the ship was your predecessor. You’re coming through the crew quarters so that means a full security check. Your pack; let’s see it. Dump it on the table. Also, your shoes, and socks. And I want to be able to see your hands at all times.”

Suzanne complied. Rods spread her meager possessions on the table, ran a hand scanner over them, then scanned the heels of the shoes. She handed over her jacket – at least it was warmer in the airlock - and Rods checked the pockets, then scanned it.

“Thirty credits!” said Rods, finding a price tag. “I had to buy this so that Stan wouldn’t haul you off to his cell.”

“You were talking about the jacket. I was freezing and I thought it had been dumped. It was just on this pile.”

“That’s Jenny’s shop. Piles of stuff. It came off what she owes me, but you could have shop lifted something cheaper.”

Rods scowl made Suzanne think better of smiling.

Rods checked the screen which, Suzanne later found out, showed the view from a whole-person scanner. “Okay, the rest. Pants, top and underwear on the counter.”

“What?”

“You heard me! Come on, come on. Oh, for stars' sake!” He grabbed a large towel from a locker beside the table and threw it at her, hitting her so hard, that she staggered back. “Tuck that under your chin to preserve your modesty, but I still have to see your hands. The main scanner shows that you’ve got stuff in your panties. Let’s see it all.”

“There’s nothing worth seeing.”

“I’ll decide if it’s nothing.”

Suzanne did as she was told but felt her eyes getting wet. She threw her top on the table, trying not to cry. She did not want to cry in front of Rods, but she was tired and hungry, and upset that she should be reduced to this, and that secrets would be revealed. When she dropped her panties, a small item fell to the floor with a tinkle; a card fell with a click and another item fluttered.

“Grab those Igor.” The robot moved forward, extended one arm by several times its length to pick up the objects, and placed them on the table.

Suzanne sobbed.

“For star’s sake. You know the Replicant in that film misquotes Blake.”

Suzanne looked up, wiping her eyes.

“Where the angel goes up, he says down. The original line is fiery the angels rose.”

“So, it’s fiery the angels fell?”

“Yes, fell.” Rods picked up the item that had tinkled – a ring - with a small laser pointer he also kept in the locker.

“This looks like an engagement ring?” He did not add the adjective “cheap” but he thought it. “Are you engaged?” She nodded. “And where is your fiancé now?”

“Earth Station.”

“Does he know you’ve taken a job in a distant part of the galaxy?”

“He knows I had to come out here. He’s waiting for me.”

“So how come I had to make you strip to get this?”

“The girls I met suggested it. Said you’d be much more likely to take me.”

“Who were the girls?”

“A Stacy and an Anne. Anne had red hair and …”

“I know them,” snapped Rods.

“They said you were a gentleman.”

“I am – a gentleman who does not like to charge around the galaxy with other people’s fiancés. There have been past misunderstandings. But as it happens, considering the way that Matt and Stan have been lecturing me, it’s just as well. Put the ring back on when we’ve finished and keep it on.”

He picked up the item that had fluttered. “A twenty-credit note. Don’t often see the actual paper. Did you steal this too?”

She shook her head.

“Emergency money.”

She nodded.

“Wouldn’t have got you far.” He dropped it on the table. “And last item is an Earth Station identity card which has a different name entirely and…” Rods looked at the photo and then at Suzanne twice. “This isn’t your photo. You’re the same physical type but it’s not you. What’s going on?”

“I swapped with another girl who had to come out to a place called Basher’s Find,” said Suzanne in a small voice. “She was picked to go there but didn’t want to go.”

“That’s how you managed to get all the way out here on no money?”

Another nod.

“But you got off here.”

“Slipped out. No real controls on the gates.”

“But how did you get on the ship in the first place? Don’t these cards have biometric checks?”

She shook her head. They just do bar scans for the people coming out to these colonies.

“I’m not surprised. Basher’s Find is no career move.”

“Bad is it?”

“Penal colony that has room to take people. Fortunately for you I can sort something out with the managers. One less person isn’t going to bother them.” He dropped the card on the table. “Max!

“Yes.”

“Suzanne has standard entry to the crew quarters. Cabin three. Turn off surveillance in the entry airlock for three minutes.” He turned to Suzanne. “Get dressed. The cameras are off. And put the table back up. Igor will lead you through. Igor wait outside for our cruise director.”

She reached out to grab her underwear. He turned to go.

“But wait, what am I supposed to do as cruise director?”

“Your job will be to deal with the creatures that I hate and fear the most in all the galaxy.”

“Goodness, what creatures?” said Suzanne trying to imagine what in all of space her new employer would find so horrible.

“Passengers! They whine; they want me to fix the coffee machine; they try jacking the ship. I don’t like them. Dealing with them is your job and good luck to you. We pick up a new load in about three days – about 40 of the horrors, I think.”

“Forty people! Three days! But where am I to put them? Am I to feed them anything?” Suzanne had images of a nameless horde of passengers mobbing her, demanding food. She had never even osted a dinner party – a point she had not mentioned in her job interview.

“It’s all in the files, all written with newcomers in mind, just ask Max when you get to your cabin. She will have the schedules to follow; just don’t bother me about the passengers unless they start jacking the ship.”

He left, slamming the airlock hatch.