Scott Cleveland - Pale Boundaries

That didn’t surprise Terson a bit. Habitable planets were the rare exception in the universe and the systems that possessed them were wealthy beyond any monetary expression. Inevitably a rivalry developed between planet dwellers—groundhogs—and those born in space on any number of moons, asteroids, stations and starships.

The rivalry was healthy and symbiotic, ordinarily. The spacers provided easily mined and refined metals, staffed orbital factories that generated materials too dangerous or difficult to produce in a biosphere, and in return the planet provided variety, recreation, the opportunity to relax the strict rules of space survival and, most importantly, inexpensive and abundant food. A suitable planet could supply the dietary needs of over ten billion people. Terson’s underpopulated homeworld had managed to feed the spacers in its own system and still exported millions of tons out-system. Nivia, however, generated less than five percent of the food consumed in its system despite its vastly more user-friendly landmasses.

Nivia’s regimented population control eliminated any need to expand the planetary infrastructure and the maintenance needs weren’t enough to purchase more than a fraction of the spacers’ resources. The bulk of their production left the system as exports at prices so low the miners barely broke even.

Invariably the spacers paid the higher price. Meat animals were impossible to raise in contained habitats; even hydroponically-grown vegetable protein was prohibitively expensive, relegating most spacers to imported and therefore only slightly less expensive processed foodstuffs. The poorest subsisted on soy derivatives if they were lucky, algae and yeast cakes if they weren’t.

The philosophy of fanatical environmentalism and the laws of economics should have strangled the system; Terson did not understand how the whole dysfunctional relationship held together. Groundhogs like Zarn seemed unable to perceive the undercurrent of resentment among the spacers they met on the station. They assumed that since they had enough air, water and food so did everyone else. Upstanding citizens who’d never set foot off the planet nodded in grim satisfaction when the EPEA intercepted spacers trespassing— poaching —on their chaste world.

No one ever wondered why spacers were desperate enough to risk death for a few thousand pounds of roots, berries and fish.

No one ever wondered what would happen if they grew any more desperate.

Hal and Dayuki slipped away from the Minzoku base in the same horse-drawn cart they’d used before. The weather this night was a little cooler, and Dayuki wore her uniform instead of the casual kimono and leggings. Hal likewise wore a night-camouflage uniform McKeon provided. They followed the same road as before into Tessoua, but stayed on the thoroughfare through the center of town instead of turning into the alley behind Bulao’s little café. No one on the street spared the cart or its occupants more than a casual glance as it passed by, and soon enough the streetlights fell behind and darkness enveloped the roadway once more.

Two kilometers beyond Tessoua, Dayuki turned the cart off the road into a sparsely-wooded clearing where McKeon waited in his ORV with a passenger of his own: a nervous and jittery Derner, pulled from his bed and stuffed into the chief of security’s vehicle without explanation.

“Tell Derner we’re not going to kill him,” McKeon suggested when Hal and Dayuki boarded.

“We’re not going to kill you, Derner,” Hal said cheerfully.

The promise comforted the metallurgist only slightly. “T-then why am I here?” he demanded querulously. “What do you need me for?”

“We’re conducting an operation that might benefit from your expertise,” Hal explained. “That’s all you need to know for now.”

McKeon pulled onto the road and accelerated into the darkness with the aid of infrared contact lenses and filters over the vehicle’s headlights. The contacts lent his eyes a disconcerting monochrome glow.

Tamara’s scan of the countryside around Tessoua revealed a singular oddity: a road and structure that appeared in certain wavelengths but which vanished completely in the visible spectrum. That inconsistency alone warranted investigation.

The satellite imagery placed the junction just five kilometers from where Hal and Dayuki met McKeon, but without the detailed map derived from it they would have discounted the turn-off as what it appeared to be: the entrance to a primitive sand and gravel quarry.

The hooves of draft animals had churned the ground into a slurry of mud, pebbles and manure, eradicating any coherent pattern of use. Piles of hand-sifted sand and rock, separating grates, broken tools and other refuse left behind by peasants scratching what they could out of the low-quality deposit supported the illusion. McKeon continued on to a rocky, rain-washed trail ascending a hillock steep enough to dissuade anyone without rugged mechanical transportation from attempting to negotiate it.

The ORV made the climb with little trouble and hopped over the crest onto a narrow, smooth road bedded with material from the quarry behind them. The tops of the trees on either side were bowed inward slightly by a thick layer of interwoven evergreen vines, lending the trail a cave-like quality.

McKeon stopped and referred to his satellite map. “The structure is about a kilometer and a half away,” he said. “We won’t be able to pull off if the underbrush beside the road is this thick the whole way. I recommend we walk in.” Hal agreed, and the Fort’s chief of security backed their heavy vehicle into a tangle of lighter brush near the mouth of the passageway. Hal helped him pull a length of plastic camouflage netting from a dispenser under the front bumper that hid the ORV from immediate view.

Hal, Derner and Dayuki donned night-vision spectacles and set off with McKeon in the lead. It was quickly apparent that the metallurgist was no outdoorsman: he stumbled over rocks and depressions even with the aid of his light-enhancing eyewear, voicing monosyllabic expressions of discomfort and unhappiness that drew several reproachful hisses from Dayuki. McKeon finally threatened to gag the man if he couldn’t keep silent.

A short time later the road widened into a cul-de-sac fifty to sixty meters across. Like the road, it was hidden by vines strung overhead which were partially supported by masts extending from the roof of a windowless, single-story concrete building. The slab of wall facing the road was featureless except for a formidable steel blast door large enough to accommodate a vehicle three times the size of McKeon’s ORV. The personnel door built into the lower right-hand side was secured by an electronic combination lock.

McKeon touched Hal’s elbow and pointed to one corner where a young Minzoku soldier with an automatic rifle slung across his back ambled into view. A moment later another appeared from the opposite direction. They exchanged a few words as they passed, then vanished again. McKeon drew the Onjin back to the relative concealment of the road and shrugged out of his pack.

“I brought a decoder,” he said quietly, “but we’ll have to take out the guards.”

“I don’t want to tip off Den Tun,” Hal reminded him again.

McKeon held up a small aerosol can. “This is a mild anesthetic and short-term memory blocker. It takes effect quickly, but has to be deployed at point-blank range.”

“Give it to Dayuki,” Hal instructed. McKeon looked uncertain, but complied. Dayuki was either trustworthy or she wasn’t. They would find out soon enough.

“This stuff is primarily an inhalant, but it will absorb through the skin, too, and it’s persistent,” McKeon explained to the Minzoku girl. “Don’t touch anything that’s been sprayed. They’ll act a little drunk when it takes effect and they should be fairly compliant to verbal direction—just send them on their way and they won’t remember anything that happened for five to ten minutes before it’s administered.”