Space Stations

Possibly he was alone because he needed the room. He'd been a big man. The frame was there: broad shoulders and chest, heavy, long arms that would have been muscled once.

The torso was still thick, not as if he'd had more to eat than the others, but as if his skin remembered more bulk and refused to tighten. His teeth were mismatched and his face—suffice it to say age and the loss of underlying flesh hadn't been kind to what had started out as asymmetrical and blunt. The eyes tended not to focus. His coveralls were like the rest, except for a lack of fading in the color of the front, as if he'd always worn something else overtop. Apron, she'd been told. He'd been a bartender on the other station. Linda avoided looking at his feet, one look at those splayed toes in their homemade thongs being enough.

He might have been alone in his seat because of his size—or unpleasant appearance.

But, Linda knew, incredible as it seemed, this bartender was the leader of the Thromberg contingent. He sat alone because the others here granted him that privilege. Something else to mystify the Earthers on board.

“Drink, Mr. Leland?” she asked.

His hand, like those of the others, reached involuntarily for a pocket, then stopped. It had taken those from Thromberg most of this trip to stop trying to pay her with the little slips of metal they called “ 'dibs,” but the reflex remained. Since 'dibs involved a complex exchange of work for goods, Linda took this as a hopeful sign Thromberg had remained more civilized than it appeared from her denizens. There was little else to go by.

Though if she turned around, she knew she'd see no one drinking yet. They were waiting for Leland to take and open his. In fact, they used to wait until she left as well.

Politeness? She wasn't sure.

Different customs. Very. They hadn't briefed the crew to expect such things. Mind you, they hadn't been briefed about much. This was supposed to be a routine, if profitable, pick up and transport trip—not an exercise in diplomacy with passengers who seemed, at times, more alien than the Quill.

“Thanks,” grunted Leland, taking the tube and cracking the top seal with a thumb. He didn't look around at the echo as sixty-four other seals were cracked. “Whatssir 'tinr'y?”

Linda worked this around, guessing “itinerary;” Leland's broken speech was hard for her to follow at best. “We've dropped out of translight and are vectoring to the station, sir.

Captain Maazel—What was that?” That, being a solid thump felt through the floor plates, accompanied by a warning flicker of the interior lights. She grabbed for a hold on the seat rim, almost dropping her tray.

In case any missed the event, the shuttle's alarm gave a brief, self-conscious bleat.

Leland took a casual swallow before answering: “Sommat hit the hull,” he said, as if the event was irrelevant. “When'r we dock'n?”

“I'll ask.” Linda straightened, embarrassed by the placid looks from the rest of the passengers, and almost ran from the hold.

Those from Thromberg sat back and watched. They'd been told there were suits for everyone, plus a spare or two. As if any of them had believed that before boarding, Dave thought, then glanced at the port bulkhead to admire the flagrant wealth on display.

Probably the Earthers were scrambling into their suits in the forward compartment. His panic-threshold required something a little more imminently threatening than a thump on the outside of a well-maintained ship. After all, if they'd been seriously holed, it would be a little late for suits. Earthers didn't seem very logical folks.

Another thud. This a bit louder, with a ssssshhhhhk at the end, as though something clung to the hull before being left behind. Like the other immies and stationers, Dave tilted his head, listening for signs the 'siders in back were reaching for their own suits, carefully stowed by their seats. Then it'd be time to move, all right.

“Mr. Leland.” Dave looked forward with the rest. The voice was the captain's. She stood in the again-open doorway, this time partially suited up, two of the other crew behind her. Her expression made Dave tighten his grip on Annette's hand. He felt Jean leaning closer on the other side. “Would you come with me, please?”

Sammie nodded, standing with an awkward lurch. “Pettersen,” he said, bringing one of the 'siders up the aisle to him, bag in hand. “Rest o' you don't fuss,” he growled, running his eyes over them all. Dave nodded, knowing the others did the same.

“What are we facing here, Mr. Leland?”