Petticreek Five

By Ginger Booth

She cannot die. But this moon is killing her people.

Sass Collier took years to buy a spaceship, a dream born in humiliation and defeat.

Four decades ago, Sass arrived on the unpromising moon Mahina with refugees from Earth, the home planet now falling out of living memory. As a marshal, she mediates disputes between the elites of the capital and destitute settlers wresting a living from the moondust.

Then an 'air drop' kills hundreds, maybe thousands.

Settlers tucked their children into bed, then enjoyed an hour of free time before they slept. And out of the blue, they suffocated to death.

This isn't the only injustice on Mahina — far from it. But it's the final straw, the match that lights rebellion aflame. Irate as anyone, Sass becomes a ringleader. Settlers demand a shot at a better life!

Until the rebels go too far. Must she betray everyone?

Petticreek Five is an origin story for the humorous Thrive space colonization series. If you enjoy the motley crew of Firefly and the world-building of Heinlein, try Thrive!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ginger Booth
• Release date: Aug 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201592288

Book preview

1

Sassafras Collier’s heart quailed as the door sealed softly, and locked, with only eight people in the room. Here in the bowels of urb Security would be their true trial, not that public travesty earlier, outdoors lit by the tiger-striped gas giant, when the ringleaders were shot. Yet neither her lawyer nor her boss were present. Just the Petticreek Five along one side of the conference table, facing off against the tribunal sitting in judgment.

Theo Andersen, the city’s Director of Circus – er, Civics; the mayor – made a show of clicking on the recorder. This hearing is in session. Let’s begin. Of the Directors who ruled the moon’s capital city of Mahina Actual, Theo wielded less power than most. Marshal Collier –

I object! Kendra Oliver spat from his right elbow, Director of Security. That traitorous harlot is no longer a marshal! The petite blond pit viper was Sass’s boss’s boss.

I object to your objection! Sass sniped back. She held the center of the defendant side of the table directly across from the mayor, as leader of the…traitors. Bitch.

Theo quirked a lip boyishly. Ladies. Fine, let’s dispense with titles. The purpose of this hearing –

Denny interrupted from Sass’s left. Marshal represents settlers to the city. Sass is still my marshal. And how’s this a hearing? Judges versus us. Sealed door. Ain’t nobody hearing our side of the story!

Sass was proud of him. It was hard to be brave in the bizarre environment of a conference room. Denny never sat in such luxury before, never breathed air so rich and pure and moist, scented with flowers instead of the caustic alkali of the moon-side desert.

Theo stared him down. The purpose of this hearing is to understand the events leading to the uprising in Petticreek. And your role in these events. To determine your sentence.

We tried to stop it, Drake breathed from Sass’s right.

She squeezed his hand under the table. The public hearing in front of the settlers left him rattled. His kids sat in the bleachers, seeing their old man in handcuffs. They heckled and jeered at him with all the rest. The gruesome executions were his friends.

Agreed. That’s why you’re still alive. Theo paused a moment to let that sink in. Sass’s youngest co-defendants gulped. In exchange for your intelligence, provisional promises were made –

Provisional! Sass erupted. You dare!

How about everybody shut up and let me finish a sentence! Theo glowered at them all. "Sass. You’re a marshal – fine, she was a marshal. You shut up, too, Kendra. Sass, your job was to keep the peace between the villes and the city, settlers and urbs. And you did it real well. So how did you get caught up with rebels on the wrong side? Begin at the beginning. When did you join with Landau to overthrow the city?"

Sass sat back and shook her head. No, that’s not where it started. And she began her testimony.

The Rebellion was born three years ago in Schuyler, not Petticreek. Marshal Sassafras Collier banked around the afflicted area twice in her official flyer through the sparkling cool low sunbeams of Dawn, the first sun-up day of the week. She wanted to feel the mood of the disaster before she stepped foot in it.

Small figures below carried out the dead.

As a rule, settler villes on the dusty moon were ugly as sin, but Schuyler exceeded even Mahina’s exacting standards. The town aspired to become an industrial hub, not farmland. It offered all the mushroom-hued charm of a parking lot. The residential district featured block after block of shipping container homes huddled around an inner courtyard, marching along a treeless circle road. Most kept communal kitchen and sanitary facilities out back, still housed in the geodesic pressure tents used by laborers pre-atmosphere. They bore forty years of patching with duct tape.

The more civic-minded blocks erected a shade awning over a couple picnic tables, for folk to sit outside and socialize. Most blocks deployed private sunshades instead, or none.

Sass couldn’t readily see the end of the blighted district. Beyond the corpse trucks, other blocks seemed devoid of activity. But she spotted a clutch of marshal flyers, and banked to land among her own kind.

Clay Rocha, their leader, met her as she hopped out of the flyer, leaving their fellow marshals Tom and Sandman leaning on his flyer kibitzing.

Clay. What are we doing here?

Orphans. His model-grade features remained cool and detached, all business. Some kids survived while their parents suffocated.

She searched his face. Hell of a thing. We’re not helping with the dead?

We’re staying out of it. Potential for explosion.

Sass stiffened. What explosives? Where? How do we secure them?

Clay grimaced his insufferable condescension. Figure of speech. They’re in shock now. But they could turn angry any minute. We stand here for mutual support. Handle the queries. Promise that all orphans will be cared for. By somebody.

Somebody who? The city’s not gonna take them. Mahina Actual, the terraformers’ citadel that predated the settlers’ arrival, wanted nothing to do with the settler tragedies unfolding around them. They’d said the moon would be ready to accept immigrants a century from now. Earth sent a quarter million, far too soon. She couldn’t blame the urbs for feeling this wasn’t their fault.

But Clay contradicted her. Babies can return to the creche. I think I can stretch that to 30 months, age two and a half. Babies lived in the city until delivery to their parents outside on their first birthday. Older kids… Those orphans would be the settlers’ problem.

What about MA’s responsibility? This is the biggest ‘air drop’ yet. Generating an atmosphere was the terraformers’ job.

Clay pursed his lips. They are investigating. Why atmo failed here. I personally keep my emergency air at hand. He patted the breathing kit hung on his hip. It’s important to pressure seal your home before bed. That sort of thing.

That answer sucks. Few settlers could afford the pressure tents.

It’s what we have.

Clay, it’s not a question of what’s true! It’s our job to mediate between the urbs and settlers. This is one hell of a conflict!

He raised an elegant eyebrow dryly.

And that’s why you called us here, Sass conceded. Right. But standing here all superior won’t solve anything. She stalked toward the nearest corpse truck.

"Collier, stay out of