Our outpost can only support forty more people. Warren has told the lieutenant and the chief this, and the chief supposedly told his bosses. Yet, the transport brings fifty children. I don’t know where we’ll put all these kids. I hope they’re not a bunch of cry-babies like the last batch six weeks ago. Warren says some kids are still whining from that group. My job is to check the luggage for any biologicals. No foreign organics except food printer supplies are allowed on the outpost, not even clothes or leather shoes. It’s a shame, since some of the stuff the kids wear looks cool, but rules are rules.
There are footprints on the gray loading deck. Given their size, they're probably from one of the pilots, but who knows. The new boots aren’t supposed to leave marks. More for us to clean.
The white decon area is supposed to hold a hundred people and their stuff, but the room looks packed with kids. Some of them are in regulation suits - yellow for under 16 - some of them are in Old Earth clothes. Anything not destroyed can be recycled.
The computer recording begins: “Please leave your bags outside the door; they will be taken to your quarters shortly. Please step into the locker room, remove your clothes, and take a shower. Make sure to wash your hair and your feet. When you are finished, new clothes will be provided for you, and you will gather in the debriefing room. Thank you for your cooperation.” Most of the ones who just arrived don’t have a problem with following these directions. That makes my life easy.
Zip the bio-suit up, turn the vent on, head out the airlock into the decon area. Someone got sweaty in this suit. It smells gross, and the gloves are still wet in the fingers. I wish we had our own bio-suits. The first twenty bags are okay; no virus, no disease of any kind. I can wipe down anything hard like a computer or digi display, but the other stuff has to go. Twenty-one has a cool pair of boots. They're not organic, so someone from Housewares can decide whether or not we should recycle them. Twenty-three – really? Did they think they could get a sandwich onto the outpost? It doesn’t even look edible, truthfully, so I’m glad to get rid of it. PING! Now what? Virus alert. Everything this bag has touched gets quarantined. In the red box, seal the box, lock it in the orange SEARCH/DESTROY container. Twenty-four and Twenty-two have to be quarantined as well. Too bad for them.
It takes me five hours to get through all the stuff. Warren waits for me on the other side of the decon shower. He's too tall for his green suit. If he gets much taller, he'll have to transfer to a terra post. There the ceilings are three meters tall.
“Where’ve you been, Little Lacy?” he asks, smiling.
“Funny. We have ten extra people, y’know.”
“Yes, I do. I’m still working with housing, trying to find places for them.”
“How about the next shuttle to 27?”
“27 isn’t even fully operational; you know that.”
“Better than paying emission taxes because I have to share quarters with someone.”
“Did you find anything interesting?”
“Just a half-eaten sandwich - some kind of hash. One of the bags hit positive for a virus, but nothing outstanding.”
“Too bad. I guess I'll stream something on my computer tonight.”
“Where are you looking to put these kids?”
“I will do my best to stay out of your unit, if that's what you're asking,” he tells me. I don't believe him for a second. “Are you going to dinner now?”
“Probably. You want me to wait for you?”
“No. I’ll go after I finish with the newbies.”
“Don’t give me a cry-baby, Warren.” He smiles as I head out to the main hall.
-----ʘ-----ʘ-----ʘ-----
Deck 17 is reserved for housing people. So is deck 4, but that's for officers and their families. Because I’m under 18, I still have to share our unit with thirteen other young people and a unit parent. Since I’m a Senior Grade 1, I only have to share my room with one other person. Until today. Two guys from Housing appear at my door with Gary, my unit parent. I pause the movie I'm streaming and take off my headphones.
“Hi, Lacy,” Gary says with a smile.
“How many do I have?” I ask.
“Two for now. I know it’s a lot,”
“I don’t have to pay for them, do I? There’s no way two more people are going to fit in here without going over the emissions max.”
“That’s not exactly true,” one of the Housing guys says. “These rooms were built to accommodate four adults.” Great, but I’m still only supposed to have one roommate.
Gary tries to be smooth. “It’s only for a little while.”
“Fine," I say. "Whatever.” The grown ups part ways to show two kids in yellow Under 16 suits. Their bedrolls and gear bags are bigger than they are. “Did you tell Jessie? She ought to know, too,” I tell them.
“We’ll let her know. In the meantime, you can figure out the details. Thank you very much, Lacy.”
The new kids stay out of my room even after the old people go away. I put Jessie’s and my stuff away. All our pictures above our desks go into our drawers.
“One of you can stay here on the desks. Just remember it’s narrower than the regular bunks, and I guess one of you is stuck on the floor. If both of you are staying, we have to requisition two more bunks, but we don't have to worry about that now. I have the bottom one over here, and Jessie has the top.” I slide open the left side closets. “You can hang your suits here, and we’ll figure something out about any drawers. Try not to hyperventilate or get hysterical or you’re going to have to pay an emissions tax.”
“When do we get to eat?” the bigger one asks as she unrolls her mattress onto our desks.
“What happened to our stuff?” the other one starts with.
“Your biologicals were confiscated, and the rest will be brought to you here. As to food, you get to eat when you’re not on shift or at school. Make sure you know how many credits you have, because if you go over, it’s mostly bad stuff you have to do to earn those credits back. Did they give you your schedules yet?” The little one shakes her head. “What about your comm units?”
“They haven’t given us anything except these bags and the bed,” the bigger one tells me.
“All right. We’ll see if they have you in the system yet. You need linens, credits, and a schedule. We have a communal terminal in the shared space; we can figure your stuff out there.”
“Can we call home from here?” The little one is about to cry.
“When you get enough credits, you can call. Usually that takes a couple weeks, but we’ll see what you get.” Tears start sliding down her face. “Look; I know this is hard, but being here on an outpost is the best thing for you. You get to grow up, go to school, meet other people, and you don’t catch the virus. I know you’ve seen what happens when people get the virus.” She’s quiet, but the tears flow even faster.
“Quit your whining,” the big one sneers. “Just be glad someone paid your way out here.”
“Let’s go see what you’ve got.” I direct them to our shared space.
-----ʘ-----ʘ-----ʘ-----
Kira, the bigger of my new roommates, is sitting with a couple other new kids in Café 14C. They're already eating. I guess that’s good; she won’t be bugging me for every last little thing. I don’t see the other one. Not my problem. My problem is figuring out how I can get around paying the emissions tax for four people in my room. Actually, Jessie is older than I am; maybe she’ll get hit with the fee instead.
“Hello?” I snap to attention. “What do you want for dinner?” the server barks.
“Soup, sandwich, and beans.” They get dropped on a tray, and the tray is shoved to the next section. “Are those real apples?”
“Grown right here on post 16. Get ‘em while you can.”
“I’ll take two.” On my tray, and the tray is shoved to the register. Grab a bottle of juice, scan my ID, find someplace to sit.
“Lacy!” I sit with Jessie at a nearby table. She has a few apples as well. “I figure we can sell them in a couple days after food service runs out.”
“No, thanks. I'd rather eat mine. How'd you get a break now?”
“It's time for our annual OEV training. Don't you read your messages? Come on, Lacy.”
“I thought it was more junk mail. Sorry.” I hate Old Earth Virus training, especially after a meal. I wonder if
“Tomorrow morning's all full,” Jessie says, reading my mind. “Tonight's your last chance to avoid remediation.” I hate when she does that. Better that happens, though, than I go through the whole class again.
“Do you know where our little roommate is?” I ask Jessie.
“Probably sitting in the unit wasting our air. Why? You're not getting me to pay for her, Lacy. No way.”
“You're the oldest one in the room.”
“You're the Senior 1; you make the most credits,” she counters. “Maybe she'll get sent to a different post.”
“Somebody has to,” I tell her. “We have ten extra people right now.”
“Great. I'm still not paying for a cry-baby.”
“Then how about the other one; Kira?”
“Let’s see how much they go over, and then we’ll talk.”
-----ʘ-----ʘ-----ʘ-----
The bleeding alone makes me not want to catch OEV, but then they have to show the rest of the clip. I hate that the dead people look like the soup we just had for dinner.
“This is why we do not allow biologicals onto the outpost,” the video drones on. “One micron of this virus can replicate and create havoc in under 24 weeks.” I guess it’s good we have to watch this every year – just in case people forget what it looks like when you’re dying. I don’t know how healthy kids are born on Old Earth. I do know they get sick pretty quickly if they’re not vaccinated. My parents couldn’t afford to keep getting us all shots, so they chose four of us. I guess I’m glad they sent me away pretty soon after my second set.
“Does anyone have any questions?” breaks my daydreaming. “You in the back.” I sit up, hoping the instructor’s not calling on me. I hate pop quizzes. I really should've listened more to the lecture. He points this way. “Yeah, you. Smack that kid next to you.” I hit the sleeping child. She falls out of her seat, but at least she’s awake now. The man talks some more about hand washing, personal hygiene, don’t take anything that looks biological if it didn’t come from the station.
Now we have a short test. Twenty questions that determine whether you keep your job or go through remediation. I don’t want to go through remediation again. They can throw you off the outpost if you do it too many times. Blainey says they’d send you back to Old Earth, but I don’t really believe her. She makes up a lot of stories to make the new people think she’s important. BEEP! No remediation for me – I got a 90%. Not so lucky is the girl who was sleeping. She gets a low, long tone. Not my problem. My problem is my little roommate. She got sick watching the video, and she’s still crying so badly, she hasn’t taken the test yet.
“Ten minutes to finish the test, or you automatically go to remediation.” The girl starts bawling, so I go to comfort her.
“Look; it’s not that bad,” I tell her. “All that video shows is what could happen, okay? Most people live ten, twenty years with the stuff and die of old age.” That made it worse. “Kid, it’s okay. You’re safe now. That’s why your parents sent you here.”
“My parents died when I was little,” she sobs. “This is what happened to them. I know it.”
“Okay, but you need to take the test. If you think this video was bad, just wait and see what remediation looks like.”
Jessie joins us from the middle of the room. “Kid, if you don’t stop crying, they’re going to send you back. Is that what you want?” The little girl pauses for a moment. “Nobody wants you to go, but if you can’t follow directions, if you can’t stop crying, you can’t stay here.”
“I could get sent back? Really? That would be cool.” She wipes her eyes and nose.
“Why would you want to go back to a place where you’re just going to die like that?” Jessie demands.
“I get to see my granddad and grandmom one more time before ….” She looks as if she’s going to bawl again, but she doesn’t.
“You want to waste the money and hours and resources everyone spent to get you up here? You’re either really brave or really stupid, little girl.” To me, Jessie says, “Good luck with this one. I’m done.” And she walks away.
“Come on, kid. Take the test.” I think she's going to do it. “It’s only twenty questions.” She doesn’t appear to be dumb, but then she starts howling at the top of her lungs. She starts coughing, and I wonder if she’s going to get sick again. Everyone else finishes their tests while Security comes and takes the little girl to another area. That’s the last I see of her.
-----ʘ-----ʘ-----ʘ-----
Loading Dock 18C-211 is as clean as it's going to get. What really needs to happen is Housekeeping needs to come paint over the scrub marks and where the primer shows through. My comm beeps once. Report to hydroponics 3A. I've never been in as far as the third deck before. Hope my clearance is okay. The last time I was in Sector A, an Earth Executive had come to visit. At least I have something to do besides wiping down the docking bays again. Change into my regular blue suit and head out.
“Where to, Little Lacy?” Warren’s at the checkpoint before we enter the commercial zone on 18B.
“Nowhere. What’s it to you?”
“What?” he laughs. “Am I getting an attitude from you?”
“You bet, especially when you're just being nosy. I know you know where I’m going.”
“Keep your eyes open, okay? I want a full report on what you find in there.”
“You know it's all classified stuff. I couldn't tell you if I wanted to.”
“C'mon, Lacy. What's a good secret among friends?” I roll my eyes, and he sits back at his desk. He may be older, but I still outrank him.
Swipe my ID at the elevator control panel, and the third deck button lights up. Nobody else gets on until the sixth deck. A blue suit like mine, but he has an engineering patch on it, no stripes on his sleeves. His ID lights up the second deck button - command and control. He doesn't look that important, but maybe he's off duty. BING! Third deck.
The door opens to a bright white hallway. The hiss of the door closing is startling. I'd hate to be housekeeping for this level. No sound from the vents, nothing at all except my boots on the floor. About seventy meters ahead is a sector break. There's no security person, but I do need to swipe my ID again. The door to Sector A opens without a sound.
“You're early,” someone says from behind a control center. The bays with plants are huge. I had no idea the station was this big. “Let me see your ID.” The woman in a white suit scans my card but still isn't happy. “How did you get to be a Senior Grade 1? Never mind. How much can you lift?”
“About thirty kilos without help.” I'm pretty sure I don't like this person. No identifying patches or stripes on her suit. What is going on in here?
“That'll do,” she says. “I'm sorry. I thought they were sending someone more experienced. Oh well. So, we have four bays that need clearing and decontamination, bays M through P. Do you understand what that entails?”
It means a lot of junk going into bags that go into decon boxes, and the fluids go in giant vats. “Yes, ma’am. Do you have all the equipment, or do I need to get mine?” I ask.
“We have everything you need. It's all in the shed by bay P. Don't let any of the fungus touch you. It tends to burn.”
She goes back to her control center, and I go to the decon “shed.” It's bigger than any I've seen before, but this is deck 3. They pretty much get what they want. I wonder if the chief knows about the burning fungus. I wonder if the station master knows what goes on in here. The bio suit smells new, as if nobody else has even tried it on, and it's a couple sizes too big. Better that than too small. I'll need medium gloves to go over the suit.
Five hours of work, and it looks as if I haven’t done a thing. I’m on my third pair of gloves because the fungus truly eats almost anything it touches. At least there's four or five more pairs in the decon shed. I bet if I stretched the roots from the host plants, we’d reach into the next solar system.
“Excuse me,” comes through my suit. I jump at how loud it is compared to the sound of my breathing. “Excuse me, you need to prepare to leave now.”