Lower Decks

DATE: Year 308-B, Sol 465

LOCATION: Aboard the Heavy Hauler Iron Lung (Deep Space Transit)

Clara and Dr. Murray weren’t the first to come up with the idea of hitching a ride on an automated deep space transit vehicle. Dwellers and squatters had developed a whole system, on them and between them.

The space between the Iron Lung’s inner and outer hulls was a sprawling, vertical shantytown of thermal blankets and hammock-nets strung between massive support struts.

Clara sat in a circle of dwellers near the thermal exhaust vent, a village square of sorts. She was holding a micro-torch, helping a boy about her brother’s age weld a patch onto a water jug. He was named Himalaya, after Himalaya Market, by his parents, who had spent their whole lives on the Iron Lung and ships like it but followed the stories of the EZM and joined the charter when it was accepted by the NEC, thanks in large part to the effort of Market and the other flippers.

-Hold it steady, Himalaya said. You’ve got good hands for a Lanky.

-My brother taught me, Clara said proudly, waving the torch. He liked fixing things as soon as he started crawling.

-He sounds useful, Himalaya laughed. We could use a fixer.

Murray was sitting a few meters away, huddled under a glow-lamp with an older woman she’d brefiended who ran the Under-Deck’s "library,” a collection of scavenged hard-drives and a high-gain antenna jury-rigged to a hull breach.

Murray had made herself useful and bartered for access to the antenna. To the uneducated dwellers of the Under-Deck, she was a walking encyclopedia. She fixed their corrupted family photos, translated old technical manuals, and settled disputes over history.

In exchange, she got screen time and had been trying to find out what had been happening on the way to Venus.

-What’s the latest? the librarian asked, passing Murray a pouch of water.

-It’s chaotic, Murray muttered, scrolling through the intercepted feeds. Reports of a battle. A refugee fleet landing. It looks like the MTC pulled back.

-So are you ready to book faster passage?

The dwellers had set up a taxi system of sorts on the long haulers, with smaller vessels picking up passengers, taking them to other long haulers or to planets, asteroids or other settlements.

-It does look like they made it, Murray said. She started to close the feed, but a secondary tag caught her eye.

It was a navigational warning issued by the NEC Traffic Authority.

ALERT: HIGH VELOCITY DEPARTURE. VESSEL: MIGHTY SPARROW (UNREGISTERED) VECTOR: SOLAR SLINGSHOT -> JOVIAN SYSTEM

Murray froze. She wiped her spectacles and read it again.

-That can't be right, she whispered.

-What is it? the librarian asked.

-The ship we’re following, Murray said. It left Venus.

She pulled up the trajectory analysis. The Sparrow had launched five days ago. It was dropping into the gravity well of the sun, picking up speed to fling itself out to the gas giants.

-They’re going to Jupiter, Murray said, stunned. For what?

Clara, who had been listening from the circle, dropped her torch. She scrambled over the pipes to Murray’s side.

-They left? Clara asked, her voice trembling.

-They’re gone, Clara. By the time we get to Venus, they’ll be halfway to the Great Red Spot.

Clara stared at the screen. She gripped the shard of yellow plastic in her pocket. Bit was slipping away from her.

-We have to follow them, Clara said.

-When can we go? Murray asked the librarian.

-We’re coming up on Vesta-3 in two days. It’s a fuel depot. The Lung has to slow down to take on propellant. Other ships dock there, it’s a transfer point. We’ll send a message ahead and see if anyone’s headed in a direction toward Jupiter.

-We won’t be able to afford it, Murray told the librarian quietly.

The librarian laughed. She leaned back against a bundle of conduit pipes.

-You haven’t figured this out yet, Magister? the librarian asked. You just translated a pre-Rip medical database for the triage tent. You fixed the water pump logic. That’s worth more than chits or tea bricks. We’ll have it.

-There’s a helium tanker, the Red Giant, docking at Vesta, Himalaya piped up. My uncle knows the mate. They’re running empty to Callisto to refill. They always need extra hands. Or extra brains.

He looked at Clara.

-And a fixer. They’d like you.

Murray looked at the boy, then at the vector line stretching out into the void on the screen. She looked at Clara, whose face was set in stone. The girl wasn't going to stop. She was going to chase that ship until the engines burned out.

THE CONCLUSION IS NEXT: By Jupiter! (https://www.honeyfeed.fm/novels/28454)