Space Stations

Leland sighed, deep and heavy. “We had our troubles, on Thromberg. Did things to regret.” A flash of pain crossed his face. “Unforgivable things. But we didn't hide like this, we didn't cut ourselves off from humanity.” His bulk shuddered, once, then he straightened. “Or stand around moaning about what's done and gone,” he added sharply.

With that, the crowd began to dissolve, people picking up bags and gathering into small groups of four or five, heading in different directions.

Annette lingered. “How'd you know the codes, Sammie?” she asked quietly.

The stationer scowled, a ferocious distortion on that face, but Annette didn't appear impressed. “How?” she repeated. “It saved us. Grateful for that. But people don't want secrets at the start, Sammie. You know I'm right.”

“Come with me, then,” he growled, and walked away, heading for the nearest lifts.

Linda found herself alone with Pavel. “Are you returning to the shuttle?” she asked.

Pavel shook his head. “They're going to start clearing the other “locks,” he said grimly.

“I'd better get outside.” He hesitated, looking after Leland. “Go with him, Linda. The captain will want to know what's going on.”

Dave knew the Earther woman followed them. Likely suspecting conspiracy or worse, he decided, noticing she kept a few steps back. Same old stuff. He tried, but couldn't rouse anger. The reality of how fragile Thromberg's peace had really been, how near to sharing Hamilton's fate they'd come—if they hadn't found a way to live with the 'siders, with each other, even with Earth? It wouldn't have taken the Quill to kill them.

Sammie stopped without warning. Dave, right behind, had to lurch not to run into the other man's back. He looked around hurriedly, as did the others, seeking danger, expecting ghosts.

And found one.

There was a sign, half-melted into the wall. The words on it were underlined by a ragged scorching. “Leland Interplanetary Travel Services, Inc.” Below, in small, clear text:

“Book a visit from that special someone today!”

They turned to him.

“My company,” Sammie acknowledged so softly it almost disguised the tremor in his voice. “I knew the entry codes because I started the franchise here, on Hamilton Station.”

“Franchise?” Annette asked, as if compelled. “There were more?”

He nodded. “Gave this one to my eldest boy, Henry, before moving to Thromberg.

Henry was doing well—brought his family. Wife, three little girls.” A pause. No one breathed. “I started a franchise on every station. I believed our future was out here, in space. This was my way of keeping us together.”

“All family?” Dave tried to comprehend the scale of such loss and failed. Sammie had aimed enough close kin at Thromberg's sun to ice a heart. But this?

The heavy brows knotted. “Not all by blood. A cousin on Wye Station. An aunt on Pfefferlaws. Three nephews, on Hamble, Osari, Ricsus. The rest were—friends. People who followed my vision. Me.” Sammie's eyes hadn't left the sign.

The Earther, Linda, almost reached out her hand; the intention was written in a shift of posture, quickly contained. “People followed you today, Mr. Leland. Sammie. Because of you, we are still alive and have a future.”

Sammie didn't respond, instead pushing aside the debris covering the door, stepping carelessly on rubble that didn't bear examining too closely. A light started from his hand, played over a wide space, a countertop too solidly attached to move easily. He went behind, put both elbows on it, then leaned his head into his hands.

Dave ran his own light around the devastation, hoping not to find anything more identifiable than ripped plastic sheeting. He coughed in the dust. Beside him, Annette suddenly spoke: “Even your rotted beer would go good about now, Sammie.”

No one moved, as if the simple comment had been set loose to run over the room, checking size and shape, measuring for tables and plumbing, and they must do nothing but watch.

“It's over.” A growl. A warning.

“It's a great idea, Sammie,” Dave dared.

“Think so?” Sammie roared, lifting a face distorted with anguish and grief. “Mebbe I'm not innerested in any more ideas.”

Annette didn't back away. “You know what your place was for us on Thromberg. That's why you kept it open. Well, we need something like that here—as much as we need coms and hydroponics—something to help make this our home.”

“Do you think the Earthers want us to have one?” Hard and bitter. “Do you really think they want anything to do with us, once we've cleared the bodies and done their dirty work?”

Dave felt himself gently pushed to one side as Linda stepped up to the counter. The Earther stared at Sammie a long moment, then slammed down her hand. When she lifted it again, there was a 'dib lying there, reflecting light.

“Yes,” was all she said.

Titan University Archives

Public Access

Reference: Post-Quill Era;

Station Self-Government