Shoshone Station: Omnibus: The Galactic Consortium, #19

By R. J. Eliason

After being saved from a nuclear blast by a Consortium medical crew, Captain Lannister believes that first contact is back on track and peace is possible with the Galactic Consortium. As captain of Shoshone Station, the first joint space station, he will discover that the civilian population has a long way to go towards understanding and many of the social issues the earth population bring with them threaten to create new riffs. Can he learn to navigate this new terrain? Is lasting peace possible? 

This is the omnibus containing all nine episodes of the Galactic Consortium serial, season two: Shoshone Station. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. J. Eliason
• Release date: Jan 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386122234

R. J. Eliason

R. J. Eliason writes immersive science fiction and fantasy stories that feature diverse characters. Her writing spans many sub-genres from alien contact, apocalyptic stories and epic fantasy. She also writes in a wide variety of formats, from full length novels to an ongoing serialized adventure. Her writing can be found in digital and print formats anywhere online that books are sold. Or check out her website at rj.eliason.com and sign up for a free book. 

Book preview

Shoshone Station Omnibus

R. J. Eliason

Copyright © 2018 Eliason

All rights reserved.

I want to thank all of my Wattpad readers for the enormous support of this project. You guys rock!

Not a Good Day To Die ?

To Be or Not To Be ?

The Egg ?

Meteors ?

Adam ?

Africa ?

Homecoming ?

The Sting ?

Asha-Tanga ?

Not a Good Day To Die

Sophia’s breath came in clouds. Her hands, shoved deep in her pockets against the cold, were numb. Her feet hurt, and she feared she was getting frostbite. She wished momentarily that she still had her male boots. She shuddered at the thought of male boots, a gift from her father over a year and a half ago.

She headed roughly westward, into the mountains. It was a few degrees over freezing on this late October night, and the weather would be even colder up in the mountains. The temperatures would continue to dip during the daytime too, but that didn’t matter to Sophia. She wouldn’t be around. She shifted her backpack. She could almost hear the pill bottles inside. Soon they would end her pain for good.

Why not just take them here, right now?

She looked back at the city of Denver. She could see the skyline of downtown, a frozen haze hanging over it. She remembered when she had arrived there, just a year ago. She had been so full of hope, a new life promised on her horizon. It hadn’t taken long for that dream to turn sour.

She was seventeen when she ran away from home, escaped from the hell that was Wyoming. Being seventeen, the shelter was happy to help Zach, who had escaped a veritable cult. But when they discovered the purpose of Zach’s escape had been to transition to being Sophia, they were less than happy. The shelter was funded by a church that might be liberal by Sophia’s standards, but was far from accepting. She was faced with another painful choice—stay at the shelter as Zach or move on as Sophia.

A local LGBT center ran a support group for transgender people. She’d met several people her age who lived on the street. They had taught her the ropes, and for the next several months, it seemed like an okay life. They camped when the weather was good. She couch-surfed when it wasn’t. There always seemed to be someone who had an apartment, hotel room, or some other place to stay. Often three or four of them would share a room, sleeping in whatever space was available.

Then she took up with an older man she’d met at a bar, Carl. Some of her friends warned her against him. He was a user, they said. He had his own place, and he wanted Sophia to stay with him, no strings attached. But she was happy to give those strings anyway, and they’d been together for three months.

It hadn’t been perfect. An eighteen-year-old, transgender, high-school dropout with no skills wasn’t going to find a job, even with an address.

Then she’d found out that Carl was cheating. Sophia tested positive for HIV. Carl didn’t even have the good grace to be ashamed. Instead, he blamed her for exposing him to the disease, as though she were the unfaithful one. When she’d denied it, he told her to get out of his house. It was an unfair kick in the teeth.

It’s bad enough that I’m likely going to hell when I die. Does life have to suck too?

She turned and started walking again. It was late at night, or possibly early in the morning. Morning, it’s definitely morning. Any decent person was in bed, asleep. But she’d freeze if she slept outside tonight. Best to keep moving to stay warm. In the morning, other homeless people would find someplace open and warm to doze for a few hours.

Sophia’s next sleep would be her last. But there was something she wanted to do first.

She could just barely see her destination—the hills on the west end of town. The dome shone in the dark night. The cable, leading to the heavens, was lost in the darkness. Up there, thousands of miles in the air, was Shoshone Station.

There had been a huge party there last night, the christening of the station. Sophia had seen part of it on a TV at a coffee shop around nine p.m. Princess Sarasvat had looked splendid in a loose, flowing blue gown. The president had been there, along with dozens of dignitaries, bright happy people.

Sophia pulled her phone out and checked her Facebook. Still no replies. She’d been sending out increasingly desperate pleas for a place to stay since early yesterday afternoon. She’d even considered a shelter, but she knew they could be dangerous for people like her.

It didn’t matter. There was no place in this world for a homeless trans woman who barely passed as female and couldn’t afford treatment. If you are going to do it, do it in style. Take the elevator to the top. Find a view port where I can look down on the world, one time, and then down every pill I have—the depression pills from my therapist, the oxy from Carl’s cabinet, the HIV meds they gave me last Friday. Take them all, staring down at the world, and then sleep.

She shoved the phone back in her pocket. A flash of gold caught her attention, and she stared at the crucifix she wore on a chain bracelet. A parting gift from her sister.

She could see the two of them in her mind’s eye, standing in front of the two-story McMansion on the edge of Casper, Wyoming. Shaelynn in a long dress, her hair braided back as their religion dictated. Sophia, still Zach then, in a T-shirt and jeans, unacceptable dress, but he no longer cared. His pack was already slung.

Shaelynn held out the tiny gold crucifix. I hope when your trial of faith is over, she said, that you still believe in God at least.

Sorry, sis, ain’t gonna happen.

Light was dawning in the east when Sophia finally made it up the hill and started across the empty parking lot of the station. The dome was fenced off. Military men guarded the fence, but they merely nodded as Sophia went through to the gate.

Two men, one in a suit and another in a blue Consortium uniform, were in a small cubicle at the entrance. There was a police officer with them.

Can I? Sophia gestured upward with her head.

Sorry, the man in the suit said, there’s a bunch of diplomatic crap to work out before we start letting civilians through.

I just want to go up and see, Sophia said. Please.

Come back some other day, he persisted.

The man in blue spoke up then. Aww, don’t play the kid like that. His words were actually some melodious language, and the English version came out of the white collar he wore.

"You want to let it up on your station? Be my guest," the first man growled.

It. The word went through Sophia like a shot. She scowled.

The man in blue gave him an offended look. Then he smiled at Sophia. "Look, here’s the deal. They, he gestured at the man in the suit, can’t figure out who they’re going to let come down, or what sort of paperwork they should require. But we’ve got no issue with people going up."

What’s that mean? Sophia asked.

The man in the suit shrugged. Means you can go up if you want, but I can’t guarantee you’ll be able to come back. You’ll need a passport or ID or something. You got an ID, right?

She did, one that said her name was Zach. Sure, she lied.

I don’t see why they don’t just trust the Consortium on this one, the police officer groused. The man in the suit shot him a betrayed look. What? It’s not like you can fake bio-ident. Less likely than a paper passport at least.

Bio-ident? she asked.

Yeah, the man in the Consortium uniform said. "All you need to travel in the Consortium is a quick biological identification scan. Won’t take a minute, and you can hop the next elevator up, no problem. When you come down again, it will be up to those guys if you can get back out." He flipped his head in the direction of the suit and the officer.

Sophia gave a short look behind her. She couldn’t see Denver from here, but it was there somewhere. Fuck that. I don’t care about getting back, she said. Let me in.

The man in the suit shook his head. The Consortium man merely waved for Sophia to follow him.

When the man had said bio-ident wouldn’t take a minute, he was being truthful. Sophia held up her right hand, and a beam of light pulsated through her body. She was asked her name, and she stated, Sophia. That was it.

You’ve a condition yellow, no travel restrictions, the man commented. Sarasvat and the higher-ups have started every new citizen at a standard 0.25 in their Consortium bank. That’s pretty much it. Welcome to the Consortium. You can buy an elevator pass at the counter. Next one goes up in about a half an hour.

He gave her a white collar like the one he wore and helped her attach it to her throat. He explained how it would translate for her.

Sophia was barely paying attention. Now that she was inside in the warmth, exhaustion was threatening to claim her. She went to the indicated counter. The lady there held her hand up and gestured for Sophia to mimic the movement. The pass was triple ought three or something. She nodded her agreement, and a disembodied voice said the transaction was complete.

The outer lobby was dotted with small lounges and benches. Another man in a suit was arguing with, or possibly comforting, a hysterical older woman. Sophia passed through a hallway toward the inner waiting room, which was mostly empty. A couple of workmen were raising a Starbucks sign next to another stall with Consortium lettering above it. It served some sort of pastry and drinks.

Sophia’s stomach rolled. She had eaten anything since last night at the coffee shop. Two stale pastries, which they’d given her out of pity, just before they closed for the night. She had less than a dollar to her name.

The guy had said something about a starting bank, and she’d paid for the ticket somehow. But she had no clue what her Consortium bank meant or how much money it contained in terms of US dollars. She ignored her stomach for the time being and kept walking.

She was blinded momentarily by the sunrise reflecting off the descending elevator. She found a seat and watched as the doors opened, but nobody came out. Ten minutes later, they announced boarding, and Sophia hopped in, the only person going up.

The stewardess gave Sophia a short lecture about the ride up and the station itself, and then shook her awake at the top. Sophia wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth and stepped out into the space station.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but she felt she had just stepped into a fancy hotel lobby. The room was curved around the elevator itself. Well-dressed men and women stood behind counters along the wall. She couldn’t read the signage. Passageways went off like spokes of a wheel, deeper into the station. The floors and ceilings were a deep terracotta. Lights were set at intervals in the ceiling, and walls rounded slightly to give the area a natural, earthen feeling.

Sophia went to a counter.

Can I help you? the woman said.

I just wanna look out, you know, over the Earth or something.

Umm, the lower decks aren’t open yet, still being prepared for civilian traffic. That’s the best view, of course. There’s a nice view of space pretty much anywhere on the rim. It’s all open court.

Sophia looked at her blankly.

The woman laughed. Sorry, not used to people who don’t know their way around the station. Just follow any passage outward; you can’t miss the rim.

Sophia took the nearest passage. People bustled by, talking to one another and taking no notice of her. Side passages branched off the main one at intervals. She glimpsed an open mall down one side passage. On other days, she might have been tempted to follow it, to explore. But it took all her will to keep her feet moving. She was sore and tired. Her feet had warmed but still felt numb. Her eyes kept wanting to slide shut on their own.

The station, she’d been told, ran about a kilometer, which made this passage around five hundred meters, but it felt much longer in her current state. The final twenty meters or so, at the rim of the station, was a public space. Small market stalls, ranging from clothes, fresh produce, noodle shops, and others goods Sophia couldn’t identify, covered most of the area toward the inner wall, which itself was pockmarked with businesses.

The outer edge of the court was open. The final few meters were slightly sunken. Huge windows stared out into space. Benches had been placed at intervals in front of the windows. Looking right and left, she guessed that this court ran the entire length of the station.

As she stepped down into the sunken area, the lights of the station were dampened enough that Sophia could look up through the window and see stars twinkling above her. Looking down, she saw the wide solar array, stretching out almost to the edge or her sight. The glow of the rising sun was just starting to become visible underneath the array. Dawn would come to the station in a matter of moments.

It would have to be enough. Sophia didn’t have the means to wait for the lower levels to open, whenever that was. She had come to space and seen the stars. That should be enough. Now to die.

She sat on the bench and then lay down, exhaustion claiming her. I haven’t take the pills yet, she thought, just before her world went black.

Peeta? Lannister said, looking toward the kitchen area. He stood in the center of his enormous living room and waited for his, uh . . . servant? Page? . . . to turn and give him his full attention. I will be in my study, reading reports. Please let Walsh and Fox know to find me there. Peeta bowed in acknowledgement. And set up some coffee and light snacks for them, please. Again, Peeta gave a quick bow and then went back to doing the dishes.

Lannister returned his attention to the living room. He loved his family. He really did. He even missed them—until they were here. He smiled ruefully.

His father was at the breakfast table, reading the news on his iPad. Frank, his brother-in-law, was still in his lounge pants, in front of the view screen with his feet up. He’d found some sports show to watch. He made comments or yelled at the screen from time to time.

Uncle, Frank Jr., dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, approached Lannister. You said you’d show me your lower office. Down the chute. Please, sir.

Lannister smiled. Frank Jr. was the loudest of the bunch, and yet, the least offensive. There were times when his enthusiasm for everything almost made Lannister wish he’d had a son of his own.

That I did, Lannister said. Have you ever been in a zero gravity lift? Frank shook his head, eyes wide. Lannister led him to the edge of the room, where two lifts stood side by side. There’s nothing to it. You just have to be careful not to go too fast and crash at the bottom. Actually, Lannister had avoided the zero g lifts on the Corelean and was a novice as well. Look, you see these rungs? He pointed at the rungs carved into the back of the lift. They put these lifts in the captain’s and all the ranking officers’ quarters, so if there’s ever a catastrophic power outage, we can still get up and down. Though I’m told that rarely happens, if ever.

Lannister stepped into the lift and used his hands to turn himself around and then push himself gently down. He hit the bottom with a small bump and stepped out. Frank Jr. crashed, but it did nothing to dampen his enthusiasms for the lift. He rolled clumsily to his feet. That was so cool!

The lift opened onto Lannister’s private conference room. It was a good twenty feet long—longer than the conference room back on the Corelean. It was ringed with low seats. The right wall was rimward and had windows that looked down on the planet below. Now that the sun had risen above the array, he could see the eastern half of the United States sprawled out beneath them.

The left wall had small recessed alcoves between each seat. Inside were models of ships. Look, he said to Frank Jr. There’s one for each of the common type of ship our station sees. Hoppers, short range orbital ships, OLs—Orbital Landers—cruisers that head into space, you name it.

He left Frank there, inspecting each model and listening intently to recorded descriptions. The doorway from the conference room opened to a short hallway that contained all of Lannister’s offices. Lannister wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with so much space, but perhaps in time he would figure it out.

The door at the far end of the hall made a bing, and he heard Walsh’s voice on the far side. Come in, he called, and the door slid open.

Walsh had accepted the apparent demotion from second-in-command to aide with good grace. Acting Captain Manika would officially concede control of the station in a short service later today, but he would remain a strong second-in-command, almost a co-captain, until Lannister found his legs. Besides, Walsh had said, aide to the captain of a space station has to outrank my old position by a long stretch.

Lannister turned the view screen to the base-ship news. He’d seen enough Earthside news this morning, and besides, he needed to know what was going on in the Consortium as well.

Peeta walked by the hall and disappeared into the small concession room, where coffee, tea, and snacks were kept. Lannister could have easily made coffee for himself, he thought, if I only knew how to run the machine. He sighed. Truthfully, he wanted Peeta down here for another reason—to keep the poor boy out of Mom’s reach. She would be happy to order his new servant around all morning.

Thank you, Peeta, he said as the young man brought him and Walsh coffee. If you wish to busy yourself down here, that’s fine with me. I know my mother . . .

Peeta laughed. Never fear, sir. You have the saying, something about ‘I have the numbers of her’, I think. A courtesan will be arriving shortly. I’ve arranged both your mother and sister to have a spa morning, mud bath, masseuse, the works. She will feel every bit the queen, I’m sure. Your father expressed his amazement yesterday at your healing, so I arranged a healer to give him a tour of the nearest facility. The man’s knees are stiff, though pride won’t let him admit the pain. But if he’s offered a demonstration, I’m sure he’ll accept treatment. The big Frank is happy with his show, and the little Frank—

Is no bother, Lannister finished. Let him be.

Peeta nodded and then disappeared.

He’s quite apt, Walsh commented.

Indeed. I’m not sure how to feel about having a manservant, but he’s very bright and capable.

And a courtesan for your mother! Walsh laughed. God, I keep forgetting the word doesn’t mean a prostitute, like on Earth.

Sometimes it does mean that, though, Lannister reminded him. And they have true prostitution as well. That’s on our rather long list of issues we’ll need to figure out--whether to let them continue to operate on the station according to their laws or to impose American law?

It’s an American station now, isn’t it? Don’t our laws trump theirs here?

In theory. We will see how the practice goes once we are in command. Luckily that one is low on the list. I am sure it will prove thorny.

Fox joined them as the men talked. They watched the news for a while.

You know, Lannister said after some time, you just start to think you understand these newcomers, and then they start protesting eggs.

Fox snorted.

The news was discussing some protest going on somewhere back in the Consortium proper, though Lannister had no clue exactly where. It was clearly a station, not unlike the one they were on. A large crowd had gathered to listen to a man speak. He was short with bluish skin. His head was covered in bluish tentacles, like thick dreadlocks. He was shouting and gesticulating. The slogan plastered on signs and on the walls around them, No eggs is genocide, meant nothing to the Earthsiders watching the report.

Jack, their State Department liaison, arrived as the report ended. So what immediate issue do we need to discuss upon our takeover? Lannister asked him as he settled into a seat.

Shouldn’t be too bad, as far as transitions go. The biggest hassles we’re facing are visa and travel requirements. We still haven’t fully hammered out a treaty with these people. My boss left me with very vague instructions. We have no real guidelines. Barry and I are going to have approve or deny requests individually. I thought you, Fox, and I could meet and figure out what that all means. Lannister nodded, and Jack added, But that means the average citizen won’t be able to just come on up.

Do they want to? Lannister asked.

Yes, there is a great deal of curiosity. Plus, the economy isn’t so good down below. But neither tourists nor those wanting day jobs up here are intending to immigrate. The lack of a consistent monetary exchange is another huge barrier.

So what does that mean for us? Fox asked.

Well, we have about seven thousand Natives, more filtering in every day. Technically, they are immigrating from their reservation into the Consortium.

A nifty loophole that gets the State Department from having to be involved, Walsh said.

Exactly. Don’t expect to see many regular American citizens in next few weeks, months even. But the bright side is we’ll have some time to work out the kinks before we are faced with large numbers of citizens coming up.

Good, I could use a quiet few weeks to get my legs, Lannister said.

Fox left the other men to get ready for the ceremonial handing over of the station. He had never felt so out of his depths, and he would have backed out a dozen times if he didn’t know that Lannister was counting on him personally. But how was he supposed to rise to this challenge?

On the Cambridge, he had known his place and his job. He’d felt confident and in control. During the last seven weeks, he had worked alongside the Corelean’s security team and had just begun to feel like he could hold his own—though definitely not enough to command a department. And on the Corelean, the security department was tiny, a mere four people. Now he was in command of much larger station, with several dozen personnel under him.

Urgent system message, from Harin to Fox, a disembodied voice said.

Yes, Fox replied.

Harin’s bald head appeared in front of Fox. The chief data engineer was sitting in front of some display that Fox couldn’t see, but zie kept looking down, causing hirs chins to roll double.

Zie, hir, the gender-neutral pronouns had never gained much acceptance outside of a few educated, liberal circles on Earth. In fact, only Dan Oleson had heard the terms before the Consortium decided they were the easiest way for the translation system to deal with third-gender distinctions that didn’t exist in English. It was taking Fox some getting used to, but he thought he was doing fairly well with it.

Harin was speaking rapidly, forcing Fox to bring his attention to the present. We have detected a strange grouping of chemicals. Mostly neutral by themselves, and nothing we’ve worried about coming aboard. But they seem to be grouping into a volatile compound. I have no clue what to make of it. Chief wanted me to bring you into the loop.

The current security chief, the man who would become Fox’s second-in-command in a couple hours, was named Kellii. It meant, in the Turik’s mother tongue, chief. After several weeks of gentle ribbing from the Corelean crew about small-minded officers, Fox found it funny to have his counterpart be Chief Chief.

I am displaying the chemical signatures and their English names now, Harin was saying. A display appeared with chemical structures and various long scientific names.

Fox stared at the gibberish in front of him. Can you include common names? He’d never taken chemistry, and without a PhD, he probably wouldn’t have been able to decipher the symbols anyway. The scientific names blurred and changed to product names. The common names, on the other hand . . .

What do you mean by ‘coming together’? he asked, his anxiety rising.

Meaning someone or something is mixing them at a specific location.

Give me the location.

Fox recognized the location, and his heart hammered. Fuck! he spat out. I’ll kill him. Harin’s eyes went wide. Just a figure of speech, Fox lied. Give me the fastest route, and put a team on the way as well.

Harin nodded, and the route appeared in front of Fox. He shoved it to his side so he could see where he was going and then pelted down the hallway, keeping the directions in his mind.

The volatility is peaking rapidly, Harin said, hirs voice tight. "I fear we could have an explosion. That’s a rimward section. We cannot have an explosion there."

Fox waited until he was in a lift and rising before he answered. Understand, he panted. I know—

You know what it is?

It’s a drug, if it doesn’t explode first, that is. The lift opened, and there was no time for further explanation. The long stretch of hallway was empty. Ahead he hit an intersection and a closed door leading into the Shoshone section. Open. Security, he yelled, and the door slid open for him.

These halls were filled with people, mostly those who’d sought out an Economics job and office and were taking a few days to settle in first. They wandered the passageways, talking and checking out each other’s new quarters. Fox pushed past them breathlessly. He heard the door open behind him and more shouts as the security team he requested came in behind him.

He slid to a halt at the last door, ordered it opened, and entered the apartment’s foyer. To his right, his grandma was in the kitchen, making fry bread. Emma was in the living room, watching TV with her son Tanner on her lap. Grandma gave him a quizzical look.

Where is Ray? he snarled.

In his room, why?

There was no time to explain. We are dangerously close to critical mass, Harin’s head was saying at his side. The security team was entering behind him. Fox made for his nephew’s room. Open, he said.

When the door slid open, Ray protested with, "Hey, I said private." He was a scrawny young man of nineteen, dressed in faded jeans, a grubby T-shirt, and a flannel jacket.

Fox grabbed him by the jacket, dragging him forward and nearly lifting him off his feet. Ray’s eyes went wide with fear at the look on Fox’s face. He threw his nephew onto the low bed at the side of the room, then turned to look at the wide workbench. His nephew had constructed a crude meth lab. He had the air duct running at top speed, sucking away the fumes as he worked. Probably thinks he’s being clever.

The first security officer in the room was a blue belt. Is that civilian or tech? He knew the belts showed their specialty, but he hadn’t figured out the code yet. The officer’s hair was short and dark, hirs face hawkish and intense.

We have a critical mass! Harin shrieked. Do something!

The officer had a short rod, which zie held out in front of hir I’ve a kinetic shield, zie said. Brace me. Zie held the rod out in front of hir and began pushing buttons on it. Zie braced hirself as though for a heavy force, and, not knowing what to expect, Fox threw himself against the officer’s back as a second officer appeared and braced hirself next to Fox.

A circular force field erupted from the device and covered the bench. There was a flash and a bang. Despite the force field, Fox felt himself thrown against the wall, and he saw stars.

He came to with a start. Judging from the scene around him, he hadn’t been out more than a few seconds. He was on the floor of the apartment, squeezed against the wall with both of the other officers on top of him. Ray was sitting up on his bed, staring at the smoking remains of his workbench. Holy fuck, he said.

There were two holes in the wall. One opened onto the living room; Emma and Ray were looking at them, stunned but unharmed. The second hole opened into a neighbor’s apartment. A young woman peered in at them, curious.

The force was directed inward, Harin was saying. No damage to the outward facing wall. Minor maintenance damage, but no danger to the station itself. Good job.

The second security officer, a small female with dark hair and pale face, began to laugh suddenly. Oh wow, that was exciting.

The first officer stood, putting hirs hands on hirs thighs and letting out a groan. More exciting than I would wish. Zie turned and held out a hand to Fox. Melee Sergeant Mandraka, blue team at your service, Chief Fox. Glad to meet you. Fox accepted the hand and pulled himself up.

Ray was standing now, and Fox rounded on him. He pointed at the wall he had recently been thrown against. That is the rimward wall of the station, he raged. The station that is in space. You do realize you are in space?

Yeah, Ray replied with a hurt expression.

You could have killed us all.

Ray went pale and began to shake. I . . . I didn’t think it—

You didn’t think, period, Fox spat out. Goddammit, Ray. Grandma brought you up here so you could start a new life. Not repeat the same goddamn mistakes. He turned away, not trusting himself to speak further, not trusting himself to be too close to Ray right now. He was shaking with leftover adrenaline and anger.

Sir? Mandraka asked.

Take him to the brig. I’ll brief Chief Kellii.

You’re just going to let them arrest me? Ray asked. Fox shot him a look, and no further comments were made by Ray. More security officers were arriving, along with several technicians in blue uniforms.

Fox went into the living room. I thought . . . Grandma said, looking at the hole in the wall of their apartment. I thought that getting him away from the others, from the bad influences . . .

Fox bit back a snort. It was a nice thought, but Ray had been the ringleader of the bad influences, Fox was pretty sure. But to say it to his grandma, who saw the best in her grandchildren, he didn’t have the heart.

What will happen to him now? Emma asked.

Fox shrugged. Guess we’ll have to find out.

An hour later, Fox squeezed onto the platform next to Lannister at the ceremony for the changing of command. Sir? Fox hissed. "Never use the word quiet in my presence again."

Lannister raised an eyebrow.

I’ll debrief you after the ceremony, Fox said.

Jack walked Barry to the central hub to catch the elevator to the surface.

You gonna be okay for a few days? Barry asked.

Sure, Jack said, hoping it was true. Shouldn’t be much traffic yet. The Economics Office promised they would send by a housekeeping crew later today to un-mothball the rest of our offices. Not that we have any use for them yet. What else?

Barry merely shrugged. Any idea what to do about visas?

Most can wait, Jack said. The more he thought about it, the less intimidating everything seemed. He could get through this. We’ve maybe a half dozen Earthsiders already doing something on the station. Several hundred more applying for day jobs. I will talk to the new security chief, Fox, later today. Suggest we get background checks and then rubber stamp most of those requests. Tourists are just going to have to wait.

They paused and shook hands at the elevator entrance. Good luck back in DC, Jack said.

Don’t worry. Won’t take more than a few days, and I’ll be back.

When Jack returned to his office, he checked his email. The sign-in page whirled and whirled but did not let him on. He checked a couple of other websites to make sure it wasn’t the Internet connection. Then he called the main office.

It’s been like this all morning, a harried-sounding secretary told him. The servers have been up and down since they announced the new office on the station.

What’s up? Jack asked, worried. Could they be the target of some hack?

Traffic, was the reply.

Oh, it’s coming up now, Jack said. Thanks. Then he saw the number in parentheses next to his inbox. That could not be right.

He called his own office next and talked to Blumenthal’s personal assistant. Blumenthal called right before boarding his plane this morning, the man told Jack. Said to forward all visa and import/export requests to you.

But, Jack spluttered, there’s over a million.

They’ve crashed our server four times this morning already, the assistant said. Yeah, I know. Don’t know how many are serious and how many are just, you know, curiosity.

Jack skim read the first page worth of emails and decided that the second category outnumbered the first by a long stretch. There were orders for Soma Achai, the tea drink that the Consortium loved, as though the Diplomatic Corps was a mail-order service. There were requests for any knick-knack or souvenir he could send. There were letters from clearly deranged individuals wanting implants removed from their heads now that the aliens were publicly established.

Other letters were serious requests, but equally improbable at the moment. Many people wanted tourist visas, along with information about money exchange and travel in the Consortium. More than a few businesses wanted to send representatives to check out the possible financial opportunities.

Blumenthal’s final comments floated through Jack’s mind. You’ll have to review and approve each request individually. Surely Blumenthal must trust him, laying all this on his lap. He wrote an autoresponder stating that they were still ironing out the process and delays were to be expected. The autoresponder gave detailed instructions for subject lines, to help automate the flow of request. Most would not read or correctly re-apply. That was just as well. It was an easy way to eliminate those who weren’t serious.

He checked the station’s population logs. The Consortium numbers were fluid. Hoppers arrived, and the numbers jumped a dozen or so; it left, and the numbers dropped. The general population of the station rose and dipped over time. The Shoshone cultural collective rose steadily—another hundred or so had arrived earlier today. Two of the collective were marked for departure; both had warrants pending down below. They had hoped to escape their legal woes, but found the long arm of the law was longer than expected.

The American number currently stood at twenty-seven. Down two and up one. Two members of the transition team had found permanent apartments and shifted from the American numbers to general population. Later today, Jack would go apartment shopping and perhaps join them.

One new American? The entry was tagged Sophia. No last name. He messaged the ground station. Are we letting people up?

That’d be the doing of my counterpart, Die-may, the officer groused.

Dayaamaya, Jack corrected.

Some hard-luck case. Wanted to start over in the Consortium. I told . . . There was an awkward pause. "I told them that they wouldn’t be able to get back without a proper passport and such."

Jack checked the schedule; Dayaamaya was off shift already. Okay, he said. Well, let’s try to limit such traffic as much as possible. You’re right; Sophia’s not going to be able to get back until we finalize visa requirements. God only knows when that will happen or what happens until then. He made himself a note to keep an eye on this Sophia and to have a long talk with Dayaamaya.

The rest of Jack’s day passed quickly. He had no sooner set up the autoresponder than the second wave of requests started pouring in. Fortunately, many had followed his directions correctly, making the requests easier to sort and answer. The others went straight to the spam folder, to be dealt with later.

Luckily for them, Denver was home to several foreign consulates. Despite the fact that the nearest security office was Chicago, the corps had active offices in Denver. Jack called them all, begging for any part-time secretarial help. He hoped curiosity, if nothing else, would draw in a couple extra office workers.

He closed up the office around four p.m. and headed for the upper decks, where his hotel was. He grabbed a bite to eat on the rimward court of 16 Above, wondering what life on a station would be like. He queried the system for real estate agents and left courtesy messages with three, selected at random, about renting an apartment.

He watched the crowds go by, strangers. Friendly strangers for the most part, but still strangers. He felt suddenly alone. He sighed. His social circle, even back in DC, wasn’t that large, so this feeling was not entirely foreign, but the foreignness of this place accented it. I will adjust. Find friends here.

Dhanvin Sandovar stretched his aching back and stomped his feet to wake them. That had been the longest, most boring shift he’d ever worked. He looked out into the hallway. It was empty, both directions. He smoothed the wrinkles in his blue civil-service uniform.

Main lift in five minutes, Ghanish said as she rose from her desk and slung her purse over her shoulder. Better get going if we don’t want to miss it. Several other people around the office nodded their agreement.

Dhanvin stepped into the hallway to get out of everyone’s way. He watched his coworkers shuffle out and Ghanish close and lock the office door.

I think I’m going to take a local lift, walk a bit, Dhanvin told them.

I hear you, Ghanish said with a laugh. How many days like this are we going to have?

Better than Aztec Station, someone quipped, and they waved him off.

Fourteen below was a ghost town, empty halls echoing Dhanvin’s boot steps as he walked. Actually, everywhere below about 15 Above was like a ghost ship. The emptiness got into his mood, made him feel alone.

He’d open a solar station once before, back on Shavin in the Consortium, in the old galaxy. It had been hectic, those first few days on Shavin. Hundreds of jobseekers flooding the Economics Office, many of them young people who didn’t want to spend years working their way up seniority ladders in established businesses elsewhere. A new station, a new chance—, that was their motto.

Which had been okay, because Shavin had hundreds of jobs. Everyone had been pestering the Economics Office daily for new workers. Apartments needed to be taken out of mothballing and readied for occupants, workers who would quickly become those occupants. Stalls and shops needed set up, then shopkeepers and finally customers.

Here on Shoshone Station, they had the jobs, just not the seekers. Diplomatic issues were holding up new arrivals. Even if the diplomatic hurdles could be solved, this whole situation was so different from a station back in the old galaxy. The people of Earth didn’t seem to trust the Consortium. He saw it on the news all the time—no matter what the Consortium tried to do for them, they were suspicious, convinced it was a plot to conquer them or something.

Today, not one person had come through their door. It looked like it would stay that way for some time too. He wasn’t sure what they were supposed to do. Probably the same thing they did today. Spend half the morning fielding requests for workers for one project or another, and then spend the rest of the day twiddling their thumbs, waiting for the workers to not show.

Dhanvin found the first local lift and took it as far as it would go. He wandered the lonely station, letting the silence lull him into his own sense of quiet.

When the final lift opened onto the rimward court at 16 Above, the noise and crowds burst upon Dhanvin like a wave. He shook his head, driving the quiet mood from his head. He looked around at the evening crowd. People were shopping or eating at stands.

Dhanvin’s stomach rolled. He wasn’t that far from his apartment, but he wasn’t ready to go home just yet. The empty apartment didn’t hold much for him. Instead his feet took him toward his favorite noodle stand.

Treeka was one of the few people on the station that Dhanvin considered a friend. The C’thon ran a noodle stand that served some of the best shrimp noodle soup on the station and some damn fine sushi rolls to boot. The seven-foot man always had a place at his counter for Dhanvin, and a friendly word or two.

Welcome, Dhanvin, busy day? Treeka greeted him as he came up. The stand was empty.

Naw, quite the opposite. Still no word on when they will cut through the bureaucratic tape and let people start coming up. Bah.

This from a bureaucrat, Treeka joked. Well, at least one got through the net.

Dhanvin followed Treeka’s gaze. A painfully thin form lay curled up on a bench near the window. She wore pink tights, a skirt, and a thick winter jacket. Her face was buried in a mop of shoulder-length, dark hair. Even in her sleep, she clutched her small bag close to her chest.

How long has she been there? Dhanvin asked.

Treeka made a gesture that was the C’thon equivalent of a shrug. Since I got here around noon. Been sleeping the whole time.

Must be exhausted, to sleep on a hard bench like that. Poor thing looks like she’s seen some hard times. You see it on the news, the way some of them live down there. It’s hard to imagine.

What is it that Ganaka says about them? Treeka mused. Brutal thugs and robber barons?

Dhanvin snorted. And those are just their leaders. Sarasvat is making peace with them.

She sees the best in everyone, Treeka said. Still, these Americans, which are they? Thugs or robber barons?

Robber barons. One of the richest countries on this planet. But lots of inequality, the rich have a lot, and the poor . . . well, look. He gestured toward the girl.

Don’t they understand basic economics?

They don’t. Not yet, Dhanvin said. Hang on a minute.

He left the stall and went down into the viewing area. As he approached the girl, she rolled slightly. He caught sight of days’-old stubble on her face. This startled him. Skirts are female attire on Earth, right? galatura? The cultural diplomacy memoranda said the Earthsiders didn’t have people like that—in between genders—like galatura, people with male bodies who lived as females, and dunlapa, people with female bodies but male identities. Asexual and Agender individuals.

No, he reminded himself, Earthsiders didn’t have a word for them, but they existed there. Such mixed genders were natural.

The girl opened her eyes and regarded him sleepily. Then her eyes became suspicious as she woke fully. She sat up quickly, clutching her bag. I— she started, but stopped abruptly, as if she’d lost her words.

It’s okay, I just came over to see if you were okay. You’ve been sleeping here for some time, Dhanvin said, sitting down on the bench, as far away from her as possible, so as to not spook her more.

Oh, she said. Sorry.

No need to apologize. It’s a public space. You must be from Earthside, yes? Dhanvin, at your service.

Umm, yeah, Earth person. I’m Sophia. There was a defiance in her eyes that Dhanvin couldn’t fathom, as though she expected him to argue her own name. What time is it? She looked at the window, gauging the sun’s progress.

Maybe halfway into fourth watch of day, Dhanvin said. I think that’s four thirty in the afternoon, your time.

I’ve slept most of the day, she muttered, more to herself than to Dhanvin.

You must be hungry then. Will you join me for noodles? My friend Treeka makes the best soup you’ve ever had. I promise.

She looked down, blushing. I, I don’t have any money on me is all.

My treat. Really, you don’t want to miss these noodles, he joked. He could see that she wanted to. As thin as she was, she had to be starving. Finally, she nodded and followed him back to the noodle stand.

Dhanvin introduced Sophia to Treeka. She’s indeed an Earthsider, as we guessed.

Whoa, Sophia said, staring up at the C’thon. Treeka held up one hand and waved his circular cluster of tentacle-like fingers at Sophia, whose eyes bugged out even more.

Linnae stepped in behind the counter and laughed. Your first C’thon I take it, she said to Sophia. Don’t worry. My husband is most gentle. No need to be afraid.

Sophia stared at her. Your husband?

Yes, Linnae replied. I am Linnae, Treeka’s wife.

Sophia introduced herself to Linnae, adding, I am sorry for being so . . . I just haven’t seen a real alien up close before.

Treeka jumped in with assurances. It’s okay. Last night at the feast, it was much the same. There were many Earthsiders there, and most hadn’t seen one of his kind before. We understand. Linnea nodded.

Treeka was about to wow this young lady with his cooking, Dhanvin said to Linnea. I told her they were the best noodles in all of local space. He then looked to Treeka. Please don’t disappoint.

I will do my best.

A couple of cups of tea and some noodles later, Sophia was looking markedly better, more alive and animated. There was something almost haunted in her eyes that made Dhanvin’s chest ache, but he knew better than to push her for her story.

Midway through the meal, she broke out into a fit of giggles. What? Dhanvin asked.

I can’t believe this. Thank you for the noodles, by the way. They are very good. The best I’ve ever had. Treeka bowed in acknowledgement. But I still can’t believe this. I’m on a space station, eating noodles at a stall with an alien and other people from space. She looked around the courtyard. I was camping, that night when it happened, she started.

What happened? Linnea asked.

The lights in the sky, when you first arrived. She went on to explain that, when the artificial wormhole opened at the jump gate, expelling one of the Consortium’s space ships, she could just barely see a small circular flash of light. Her friends, Kerry and Tamela, had argued well into the night whether it was just an odd shooting star or something else. They woke the next day to the news that it was something else, and it had been noticed by astronomers and NASA.

Of course it was more than a week before the ship actually arrived, and we knew what those lights were. Then, everything changed. The first scout ship came within radio range, chattering across radio, TV, and several other bandwidths, in a language we couldn’t understand, but they looked just like us. It’s hard to believe that was only last spring, and now it’s barely winter. So much has changed. And yet, I never thought I’d actually come up on a station myself.

Why not? Treeka asked.

Sophia just shrugged. Just . . . people like me . . . She trailed off. Dhanvin and Treeka exchanged a mystified look. Thank you for the meal, really, she said, changing the subject. I wish I could repay you somehow.

You are, with conversation, Dhanvin said. Eating alone is a lonely business.

What am I? Treeka said in mock outrage.

You live in Denver then? Linnea asked.

I guess, Sophia said.

You guess? Dhanvin asked.

I’m homeless.

I don’t understand, Dhanvin said. What does that mean?

She looked at him suspiciously, as though she didn’t quite believe that he didn’t know what homeless was. I don’t have a place to live.

You can’t purchase a place? Or rent one? Linnea asked.

I don’t have any money.

So? Get a job. Then you get money. Then you can rent a place, Treeka said.

No one will hire me, she said, her face down.

Treeka waved his appendage at Dhanvin. He will.

Not personally, mind you, Dhanvin clarified. But that’s my job. I’m an Economics worker. I can help you find something. Day labor if you just need something to get by. Or I can help you plan a more permanent career.

They don’t have Economics workers down there? Linnea asked.

They don’t even have a planned economy, Treeka replied, then to Dhanvin and Sophia, he added, Really, she doesn’t pay attention to the news, I swear. Linnea slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

Every new arrival here gets a small bit of money in the bank, Dhanvin said. You should have a little money.

I think they might have said something about that. I wasn’t paying much attention, Sophia admitted. I was pretty tired when I came up.

Dhanvin reached out and took her hand. She watched him closely but let him hold it up, palm out. Say bank, he told her, and ask your balance.

She complied, and the disembodied voice read off her balance. That’s not even one, Sophia said.

So? One is a whole month’s expenses Dhanvin said. You’ll be fine for tonight, tomorrow even if you need. Then I can help you find some job.

Next level down, Linnea said, rapping on the counter, two blocks coreward, there’s a decent laborers section. Cheap hotels, plentiful food stalls—

Not as good as this stall, mind, Treeka joked.

Laundromats, shops with basic clothes and other stuffs, Linnea finished.

I can show you on my way home, Dhanvin said. It’s not much of a walk, and the exercise will help to digest your digest.

As they rode down in a lift, Sophia clutched her bag and watched Dhanvin nervously. Umm, thanks a lot for supper, she said for the umpteenth time, but I don’t know about . . .

Dhanvin’s eyes went wide as he caught her suggestion. Oh, no, he protested, by the watcher, no. I don’t expect . . . I don’t want . . . You are young enough to be my daughter.

She seemed to relax slightly at his quick reassurance. Is that common down there? He shuddered. I just . . . well, if my daughter were in dire straits, I’d like to think someone would be kind enough to buy them a bowl of noodles and show them a decent hotel.

Sophia watched Dhanvin depart. She shook her head, not sure what to make of him, or any of them really. They all seemed so friendly up here, not what she expected at all. Dhanvin, 14 below, she repeated to herself. If she went to his office in the morning, he could find her a job. Or so he’d said. Was it really that easy up here?

She looked around the court. They had referred to it as a laborers court, and they assured her account, something like .247, was more than enough to pay for a room and food for the night.

And laundry. She smirked. They had not said one word about her gender, though scratching her face, it had to be apparent she had not been born female. They had not reacted to her being homeless, at least not the way she had expected. But they had impressed on her more than once that she had enough money for laundry. Message received.

The court was two stories, and she was on the bottom floor. It was probably as wide as the rim court, but the lack of windows, the number of stalls in the center, and the press of the second-story balcony made it feel less open.

Scanning the shops on the far side of the court, she saw two humans in white uniforms sitting on low chairs near a narrow storefront. Next to it was a clothing shop, and then what appeared to be a barber’s shop. An ape woman—they called them Hanuman, was getting her facial hair trimmed.

Next to the barber’s was a brightly lit store that sold personal items that Sophia couldn’t name or identify. A woman with a thick brow wandered the aisles, searching for something.

Sophia had been raised to believe that evolution was a hoax and creatures like Neanderthals and these ape people weren’t real. Evolutionist taught that they were primitive beings, ancestors to modern humans.

Both wrong. The Consortium claimed that evolution was really a simple science, not so different from gardening. Create condition X and creature Y will evolve. Neanderthals and these ape men were simply different branches of the Simian line, not lesser than humans nor greater.

The scent of stir fry from a nearby stand caught Sophia’s attention, and her stomach growled, despite her recent meal. The smell was coming from the nearest stall, which seemed to be selling several variations on the same rice stir fry to a growing line of patrons. The next stall over appeared to be something like a coffee stand.

Sophia turned her attention to her own side of the court. She had no clue what any of the stores here offered, but according to Dhanvin, the opaque glass doors right in front of her led to an inexpensive motel.

The doors opened for her as she stepped up to them. Inside was a tiny lobby, the whole of it no more than five meters square. A rust-color dog lay curled up on a couch to her left, watching a view screen. The right wall was entirely taken up with a counter, behind which was a small office. In front of her, a passageway led deeper into the hotel.

Moving out of the way of two patrons who were coming down the passageway, she stepped up to the counter and watched as they passed. The woman was in a blue sarong with sandals on her feet. The man wore pants and a loose-fitting, red shirt. He, too, wore sandals. Makes sense, she thought. Everywhere is basically inside up here. The two were talking with each other, something about supper.

A movement behind the counter caught Sophia’s eye, and a moment later, a creature was hopping up on a stool to regard her. It looked like an oversized poodle; thick, curly, white hair covered its body. Its face featured a snout-like mouth filled with sharp teeth, and it had tall, pointed ears. It growled out something that Sophia’s collar translated as Can I help you?

Umm, yeah, I need a room for the night, Sophia said.

Just one night?

For now, yes.

Ought one, the creature replied, holding up its furry hand.

Sophia cautiously put her hand up next to it. The strange lighted box appeared, and they agreed on the price. The bank’s voice announced, Transaction complete. Sophia felt a rush of relief. Ought one was .01 from her .247. She did indeed have enough to get by for some time if need be. It felt good to have some resources again, to know she could afford a place to stay, a meal.

The creature said something that Sophia swore was bitch. She startled, but before she could ask for clarification, the dog on the couch had leaped up on two feet and approached them.

Take this patron to 107, the creature behind the counter said. It hopped off the stool and disappeared back into