Catherine Asaro - Nebula Awards Showcase 2013

The commander, a leonine black woman with gray streaks in her hair, walked in. “Place is clear,” she said to the guards. “Get in there and get your bellies full. I’ll talk to our newest citizens.”

The commander had the ketone-scented breath of a starving woman, yet she pulled up a chair as though she had all the time in the world.

“Muh—maybe you should eat first,” Lizzie said.

The commander smiled and stroked Lizzie’s hair. Her touch was light, delicate, comforting; a mother’s touch.

“Bless you, child,” she said. “I’m afraid that yes, we will be eating your food. That’s a philosophy you’re going to have to learn.”

Momma scowled. “I take it the war’s not going well.”

“We’re staging a tactical retreat. This way-station has been useful, but at this stage we can’t afford it to benefit our enemy. If we just leave you here, you’ll give our enemy fissionables, food—we can’t have that.”

Behind her, her soldiers looted the kitchen. The new arrivals dug into the tubs of sauerkraut with both hands, shoving their mouths full of shredded cabbage with a fierce and frightening satisfaction. The ones with full bellies had begun toting the remaining food supplies back to the airlock, moving quickly.

“We won’t give them anything,” Lizzie begged. “We’ve been rooting for you, we don’t want to help those awful Gineer…”

The commander smiled wearily. “I know you mean that, child, but you can’t enforce it. Refuse to sell it, and they’ll take it. They’re as desperate as we are. We can’t afford to leave you here.”

“So you’re going to kill us?” Momma asked, putting her arm around Lizzie.

“Despite the Gineer propaganda, we’re not barbarians,” the commander snapped. “My troops will strip this outpost to bare metal—but we’ll take you with us. We’ll escort you to the nearest free Web holding where you’ll be safe.”

“In between combat missions? That could take years,” Gemma said.

“The Web’s more efficient than you give us credit for. The good news is that we’ll consider your ship’s materiel your entry fee to the Intraconnected Collective—you’re citizens now. It’ll be a better life, child; no more worrying about air, food, or clothing.” She ruffled Lizzie’s hair, as though to prove what a wonderful world it would be. “Just as you provided for us today, we will provide for you. I’ll personally recommend you for a surgeon’s career when you hit planetfall.”

Lizzie felt like she’d been punched in the chest. She’d had dreams about leaving, yes—but that left Sauerkraut Station where she could come back to it. The commander was talking about forced relocation, putting her in a place full of strangers, and taking everything she’d loved as payment.

The soldiers smashed in the door to the fermentation chamber. Momma and Gemma blinked back tears. Lizzie knew why; Momma had installed that airlock when she was Lizzie’s age, the first time Gemma had trusted her with the welder.

Everything in this station was her birthright, purchased by one Denahue and installed by another. The Web would take away this history to give her someone else’s hand-me-downs. And everything that five generations of Denahues had built would be so much floating debris.

Choking back tears, Lizzie watched as the soldiers hauled the tubs of sauerkraut out—and then she saw it.

A small container with a scrawled “T.”

“NOT THAT ONE!” Lizzie yelled, leaping off the bench before anyone could stop her.

She tackled the soldier, sending a stack of tubs clattering to the floor; she clutched Themba’s sauerkraut and to her chest.

The commander bent her wrists back to make her let go; another soldier took it away. “THAT’S THEMBA’S!” she yelled. “YOU CAN’T HAVE THAT ONE! I HAVE TO SAVE IT FOR HIM FOR WHEN HE—HE COMES BACK—”

Lizzie was already sobbing as the commander carried her back to the table, dropping her into Momma’s arms.

“I understand the challenges of parenting,” the commander said stiffly to Momma. “And your daughter’s proven herself an ally. But you will settle her down, or it’s the cuffs.” She unholstered a pair of handcuffs, swung them lightly off the end of one finger.

Momma stroked Lizzie’s hair, hugging her tight. Lizzie cried until Themba’s container was out of sight—and then a thought occurred to her.

“Could you at least relocate us to Themba’s house?” she asked. “He’s my best friend.”

The commander hesitated. “A Web citizen was your best friend? Is that why… why you were the Angel?”

“Oh yes,” Lizzie gushed. “We played together for four whole days. He asked me to come with him—he’ll be glad to show me around his home, I just know it.”

“It’s—an unusual request…”

“ Please ,” she begged. She looked to Momma for support, but Momma and Gemma were studying the tops of their boots. “If I can be with Themba again, it’s… okay.”

“I can’t promise. But… Themba’s a common name. Can you give me more details?”

“He was a hostage.”

The commander flinched. The handcuffs fell to the floor.

Gemma let loose a choked cry. Momma reached over, and both Momma and Gemma were crying now, and that scared Lizzie worse than anything.

“Sweetie…” The commander reached out to take Lizzie’s hands. “We gave our innocent sons to the Gineer as a token of our good will. We thought showing them our beautiful children would help them deal in good faith.

“And… when the Gineer broke the treaties, they probably shot the hostages. That’s how hostages work.”

Betrayed, Lizzie looked to Gemma and Momma. “You knew ?”

“She said ‘probably,’ love,” Gemma said, sniffling. “We did news-scans, but never found his name…”

Lizzie felt the tears on her cheeks before she realized she was crying again, huge whoops of pain that seemed to erupt from her like air squirting into vacuum. She’d been holding everything in, all the anguish of the war, and now that everything was lost she was flying apart into nothing, nothing at all.

“We’ll find someplace good for you,” the commander promised. Lizzie slapped her.

“You killed everything !” she shrieked. “ You made everything dead !”

The commander touched her fingers to her swelling cheek in disbelief. Behind her, her soldiers froze; they cradled the sauerkraut containers awkwardly, not sure whether to keep moving or go for their guns.

Momma, her arms protectively around Lizzie, glared them all down.

“You’ve taken everything from her, now,” she said. “Every last illusion. Will you take her home from her, too? Is that who you are?”

“You’d die !” the commander shot back, exasperated. “Your circuits are blown. And the Gineer are hot on our heels—so we can’t leave you with fissionables, or food, or medical supplies. We have to leave now , and all you’ll have left is a metal tube with a puff of air. Would you rather die in space than live in the Intraconnected Commonwealth?”

Lizzie turned to Momma, wondering what she’d say—but was surprised to find Momma was waiting for her answer. And even though Momma’s face was patient and kind, Lizzie could see it in Momma’s eyes:

Momma would rather die here.

She had spent forty-three years in Sauerkraut Station. Here, she was a commander; in the collective, she’d be a quirky neighbor. Brought to dirt, Momma would become the stereotypical planetfaller that was the butt of every VDR comedy’s joke: terrified of the outdoors, obsessively closing every door behind her, frozen by the overwhelming choices at supermarkets. Laughed at by everyone.