Pandora: Liminal Space Book 2

Chapter Seventeen

The going-away extravaganza was exactly what Garrett had pictured from the sanctity of his apartment. There were five thousand workers and colonists heading to Pandora, and it seemed like all of them had decided to show up. Apparently each of them could bring a guest as well, and everyone did, right down to the toddlers.

The docking bay of the Neptune seethed with people. Crowds lined all levels of the bay itself, packed the main floor and even perched on the ships that were left in there. Garrett noticed several people sitting on top of his own cruiser but didn't bother to get worked up about it. They couldn't get inside and they couldn't break anything. Hell, he would have preferred to join them, but he hadn't had anything to drink yet and he wasn't subjecting himself to this without alcohol.

There were name tags being handed out at the doors, which Garrett steadfastly refused to wear. There were party hats and noisemakers and floating balloon animals that people could mold and then throw into the air, where they would hover and glow. Children were screaming and laughing, adults were yelling and shouting into the ferocious din, and wafting over it all was the Olympian planetary anthem, coming in tinnily over the speaker system. It was on repeat, apparently. The horns would blow, the tambourines would shiver with their final triumphant rattle, there would be one last strum on the giant lyre...and then it would all start over again. And again.

Five minutes in Garrett knew he'd made a mistake. Five minutes after that and he was beginning to wonder of he'd be able to push through to the outer edge of the pool of people, much less make it back up to his apartment. He decided discretion was the better part of valor and headed for his ship. He could take refuge there.

Apparently some other people had had the same idea. There was a group of what looked like teenagers hanging around the undercarriage of his cruiser, trying to act casual but failing miserably. They were clustered too tightly together for it to be natural, despite the press, and as he got closer Garrett could see that one of their number was lying on the floor behind them, busily rewiring the controls for his outer locks. The kid had somehow managed to get the paneling off without prying it, which would have set off the alarm. Even as Garrett watched the hatch hissed lightly and released, opening for the industrious young hacker.

He was impressed more than he was pissed, which was why when he pushed the worried-faced gang out of his way and dragged the girl out, he did it by the arm instead of the hair.

"Hey!" she shrieked, falling back on defensive aggression even as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Get off me!"

"Get off my ship," Garrett replied calmly, letting the girl go but not moving out of her way.

"It's, what, no...it's...no personal ships are allowed to go to fucking Pandora." The way she said it left no doubt as to how she felt about their destination.

"So because it's not supposed to be going with you it's okay to break into it?"

"I didn't break anything," she muttered. White blond hair fell over her eyes, but Garrett could see enough to see that she was glaring at him. "And you're not coming to Pandora, you're a fucking doll."

"Doll" was a colloquialism for people who had either had a lot of very obvious modifications done in an effort to stand out or, as Garrett had very recently learned, an epithet that naturals used to describe anyone who could tolerate regenerative medicine. Garrett had learned quite a bit about the prejudices naturals had against normal members of society, "normal" also being a very loaded term, of course. In the society he was entering into, normal would be defined by the naturals, who were the majority of people moving to Pandora.

Garrett chuckled at the girl's insult, which seemed to make her even more upset. Her friends vanished into the crowd, their interest waning now that the opportunity for some exciting breaking and entering was denied to them. Her hands had clenched into fists, and her nails dug so deeply into her palms that Garrett thought she might be puncturing the skin. Her caramel skin was taking on a reddish tone, either from anger or shame he couldn't tell.

"What, you think I'm funny, doll?" Hmm, that definitely sounded like anger.

"Not exactly," Garrett replied, getting his wayward sense of humor under control. Laughing in her face was just making it worse for her. "And I'm not a doll."

"Yeah, right. You're not a doll like I'm not a fucking reg." "Regs" were another term Garrett had learned recently, intimating that naturals were regular people and everyone else was abnormal.

"Honest. I'm not a doll. I am, however, the owner of that ship. And I want you to put it back together. Now."

"Make me, doll."

Garrett sighed. The last thing he wanted to do right now was get into a shouting match with a repetitive, angst-filled teenager. On the other hand, it would take security forever to wade through the crowd and he didn't feel comfortable personally restraining her. Her eyes were darting back and forth, and she was clearly considering making a break for it.

"Tamara." A new voice from behind them made them both turn to look, the girl with apprehension and Garrett with appreciation. It had been forever since he'd heard that accent, the long vowels and rolling drawl turning the girl's name into "Taamrah." Drifters were a rare breed, the last of the real independent traders in this part of the universe. They were born, lived and died aboard their ships, running from planet to planet and taking on the cargo that most Federation-based shipping companies refused to.

Technically they weren't smugglers, but the planets in the central system did everything they could to restrict trading to resident shipping cartels. The majority of drifters had been pushed to the Fringe planets, and even there they were becoming fewer and further between. This man wasn't wearing a uniform, but Garrett figured he had to be involved in the colony project somehow.

"I didn't break anything," the girl—Tamara—said, but her voice was less angry and more nervous now.

"Didn't say you did," the man replied. "But that doesn't mean you don't need to put somethin' back together. I'll give you five minutes before I let your pa know."

Her face paled almost to the shade of her hair. "You wouldn't."

"Those five minutes've already started," he said gently.

Tamara blew an explosive breath upwards, ruffling her bangs, but she turned around and crawled back under the cruiser, swearing just loud enough to be audible but not quite loud enough so they could make out the details. It was probably better that way.

The man settled in next to Garrett and nodded companionably. "Evenin'."

"Thanks for the assist," Garrett replied.

"My pleasure. Tamara's smart as a whip, but that doesn't mean she's got the sense God gave little apples."

Ah, drifter slang. So deliciously quaint. "I gathered as much."

"I reckon you did." The look the other man gave him was amicably tolerant, a lot like the one he'd given the girl, but Garrett could see a welcoming heat behind it. He held out his hand.

"I'm Garrett." It would take too long to explain his last name.

"Jonah." They shook, and when Jonah's fingertips slid against Garrett's palm as he let go, Garrett felt the heat as well. Jonah had the slightly tense look of a man long-contained and bursting at the seams, wanting but not knowing how to get what he wanted. He was good looking, not incredibly handsome but comfortably attractive, with a lean, lanky body a few inches taller than Garrett's and sandy brown hair tucked back behind his ears. His eyes were a warm brown, and his jaw was a little scruffy with the beginnings of a beard.

Not military, then. Probably not even an expedition member; perhaps he was a consultant. The last thing an inveterate wanderer like a drifter would want was to settle on a planet in the Fringe. They carried their homes with them, they didn't stop moving and put down roots. That actually made Garrett happy. Here was his hook-up, if he played it right.

"Nice ship," Jonah offered. He might as well have been screaming subtext. Garrett liked discussion laced with casual innuendo, and he threw himself into it.

"Thank you. She's been good enough for me lately." She's my home away from home. See how alike we are?

"No other crew members?" No wife, husband, lover, family?

"Nope. Just me." All on my lonesome.

"You been out on her long?" Just how desperate are you?

"The last stretch was for three weeks." Not that desperate, thanks very much, but I'm willing to consider you.

"Plenty long for most people." I'm willing to be considered.

"Hellooo, are you done orally fucking each other yet?"

They both turned and looked at Tamara, who was rolling her eyes. "It's finished. Can I go already?"

Garrett leaned down and looked at the panel. It was back in place, with no sign of tampering. His hatch was still open, but one push from him would reclose it. "It looks good."

"Try not to break into any more ships tonight, Tam," Jonah said mildly. Tamara didn't say anything, just brushed by both of them with a scowl.

Garrett looked over at Jonah and decided to drop the innuendo. "I'm much better at orally fucking people than that, actually."

Jonah looked startled for a moment, then laughed. "God, I bet you are. Got anything to drink in there?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." He'd stocked all of the alcohol he'd bought for the journey into his ship, where it would be harder to monitor his consumption than if he stored it in his quarters. "Would you care to look at my selection?"

"Love to."