Майк Берри: Macao Station

Macao ran at a barely sustainable level of production at the best of times, and Halman, the Farsight company bigwig and station controller, feared that any loss of production could easily result in the closure and mothballing of the facility. So the usual policy on unsound or even unsafe K6s was to run them anyway. Eli did his best to stick up for his miners, but it was a constant balancing act between profit and safety. Even he knew that some concessions to operational danger must be tolerated.

And here he came, crumpled in his aged flight suit, heavyset and scarred, a friendly-looking veteran of the frontier, fifty-five standard years old but still crunching rocks with the best of them. He paused to share a brief laugh with the other miners, slapping the huge Si Davis on the back before moving to the coffee machine. His grizzled face studied the arcane panel of the device as if he hadn’t used it thousands of times before, wearing its usual expression of barely-restrained amusement. He shot a questioning look at Lina, who grimaced, held up her cup and shook her head. He chuckled, ordered just one drink from the machine and came to the table. He kicked his chair out and sat, placing his cup on the discoloured surface.

‘I wish you wouldn’t have the windows like that, Li,’ he said. ‘Makes me sick.’ He sipped his scalding coffee and winced.

‘No,’ replied Lina, ‘I’m pretty sure that’s the effect of the so-called coffee. What’s that, your third?’

He sipped again, pointedly. ‘Lifeblood of human civilisation, Li.’ He checked his watch and grimaced comically.

Lina cycled the window and the asteroid belt stopped moving. ‘Better?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Any more news from the lifers’ wing, then?’

‘What — the last news wasn’t enough for you?’

‘Just looking forward to the next exciting instalment, is all. I wonder what it’ll be? Maybe a full-on prison break, take the station by storm and establish Macao as the leading frontier pirate base.’

‘Don’t even joke about it. Did you know that Murkhoff is being sent back to Platini on the next shuttle for reconstructive surgery? They say he’ll be blind in his right eye until they can grow a transplant organ. You know what that animal did to him?’

‘No. I didn’t realise it was that bad. Wow.’ They were silent for a moment in homage to the injured man. ‘At least the shuttle is due soon, right?’

‘Any day, by my reckoning. Assuming Farsight haven’t forgotten us. So until then I guess Murkhoff isn’t going to be winning any games of pool.’

‘Pool?’

‘Yeah, depth perception, right? Your three-dee vision requires two working eyes.’

‘And you told me not to joke about it. Damn, Eli, that wasn’t even funny.’ She arched an eyebrow at him, a slight smile on her lips, an expression that, added to the effect of her well-defined cheekbones, shock of tangled blonde hair and wide green eyes, had been known to melt some men, at least in her younger days.

‘Maybe not, but I can get away with it, because Murkhoff said that himself. Anyway, poor guy. Our sec-teams aren’t made for this. What’s the worst they had to deal with before this whole prison thing started? A bit of graffiti and maybe kids breaking into the vending machines. And now this. . .’

‘Well, I guess it keeps us spinning. Although I would say that it takes a special kind of idiot to look at an under-supplied mining outpost full of civilians and think maximum-security prison.’

‘Yeah, well keep those thoughts to yourself is my advice. I get the impression that the company is a little touchy about the whole affair. Halman too. Doesn’t matter what you or I think. We just get paid to crunch rocks.’

‘Speaking of which, hadn’t we better saddle up in a minute?’

‘I make it five,’ Eli responded, gulping his coffee. He motioned to the window with his cup. ‘Rocks aren’t going anywhere.’

‘Pardon my enthusiasm. It wasn’t genuine, I assure you.’

‘I should hope not. Such a startling break from character would demand a referral to Hobbes.’ He gave her a serious look, but his face was too sculpted by laugh lines to really pull it off.

‘Does such a referral come with any sort of a rest?’

He chuckled, shaking his head. ‘Dream on.’

For a minute or two they both watched the belt. The exhaust plumes of the finishing shift’s K6s were converging into a rough group and heading back to base.

The canteen door suddenly whined open and Halman came in whistling brightly. He greeted the three miners at the other table, then wandered over to Eli and Lina.

‘Mind if I take a seat?’ asked Halman.

‘You’re the boss,’ said Eli. ‘Sit wherever you like, I reckon.’

Halman coughed laughter, his brown eyes sparking, and sat. He was a bear of a man, as broad as Eli but taller, possessed of a surprising grace of movement, balding and borderline-ugly, at least on the outside. Much of his once considerable muscle mass had lost its definition in his early fifties, leaving him a slightly slouching, hulking individual. He’d been a soldier in the corporate militia at Platini in his earlier life, where he’d fought guerilla warfare against the union insurgents. But apart from his habitual swearing, his gentle demeanour belied his violent past. He wasn’t exactly intelligent in the traditional sense, but he made up for this by being practical and resourceful. ‘You have to work with this asshole?’ he asked Lina, indicating Eli with one thumb.

‘Yeah, I do. About that pay rise. . .’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Halman seriously. ‘I need that money for duct tape and nails. You know this place is only held together by duct tape.’

Lina sighed theatrically. ‘Yeah,’ she agreed grudgingly. ‘I know, I know.’

Eli leant towards Halman, giving him a sidelong, conspiratorial look. ‘About that. . .’ he said.

‘What?’ asked Halman suspiciously. He was all-too used to being harassed about the latest thing that had broken down. He did, in fact, consider it to be one of his main duties.

‘Well, the cooker in my quarters has been broken for two months now. I don’t have time to fix it myself — you know how hard you people work me — and more importantly, I don’t have the authority to sign for the parts myself.’

‘And?’ asked Halman warily.

‘Well. . . have you spoken to Nik Sudowski recently?’

Nik Sudowski was the head of Macao’s put-upon maintenance division, and as such was a man in great demand.

‘Of course I have,’ said Halman, uncertain as to where this was leading.

‘Well, I asked him about it again this morning. He wasn’t exactly helpful. In fact, he wasn’t exactly conversational. The guy kinda looked like crap, to be honest.’

‘I saw him yesterday,’ said Halman. ‘And he seemed okay. Maybe you’ve pissed him off, Eli.’

Lina laughed. ‘Yeah, Eli,’ she agreed. ‘You do have that magic touch with people.’

Eli nodded towards Lina. ‘And she asks for a pay rise!’ he exclaimed. He turned serious again and added, ‘It just seemed unlike him, is all. Nik, I mean. He didn’t really seem himself.’

Halman shook his head. ‘Nik’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll remind him about the cooker. Right now, it’s you lot I’m concerned about. Hadn’t you better get out there and make me rich?’

Eli grimaced and necked the last of his drink. ‘Rich,’ he muttered incredulously. He stood up, shoving Lina on the shoulder. Reluctantly, she also rose. ‘See you later, Dan,’ he said to Halman. ‘If, that is, we don’t die from exhaustion first.’

‘Hardly in the risk-group for that are you, Eli?’ replied Halman, grinning. ‘Everyone knows you guys do jack shit in those ships. They do everything for you, right?’