There’s an inactive buoy—a potential gateway to Gaia knows how many worlds. G-145 has the same resources it had a month ago.”
“More than a dozen contractors have pulled out of their leases on Beta Priamos. They’re being sued, or are under risk of suit.”
“They have insurance—”
“Their insurers are reeling from payouts. I’m sympathetic to those who lost their loved ones, truly, but the claims and lawsuits are overwhelming the financiers. That Abram fellow caused a crisis in what used to be a well-oiled economic machine that drove our space exploration.”
He nodded numbly, having run out of challenges. The smug voice in the back of his head, the one he never liked, pointed out that Carmen hadn’t asked about his safety nor expressed concern for his welfare, nor for that of any other “crisis” survivors.
“Sorry, sweetie, but I don’t see this problem blowing over quickly. Forget about G- 145 and concentrate your efforts somewhere else for a while.” She twirled the towel and laid it around her neck.
“That’s difficult. As second-wave prospectors, we depend upon third-wave exploration and development to make back our expenses. Anyway, there isn’t another solar system opening up for several years.”
“ Everyone should diversify.” Carmen’s cheek dimpled as she flashed a smile, too bright and hard to ever be innocent. “You’ll find something else; I have faith in you. Call me when you get a line on work that’s not connected to G-145.”
“Sure thing.” He projected confidence. He had to; investors, even those specializing in small businesses such as Carmen, were pack predators. First, they couldn’t deviate from pack groupthink, and second, they must never see weakness in their victims—er, clients. They’d devour him and pick his bones clean.
“Look me up when you dock in Athens Point.” She winked and the call was over, a blessing due to the high cost of bandwidth through the Pilgrimage -controlled buoy.
Sure thing, Carmen . After a moment, he cleared the bulkhead display of recent reports from lessees of his claims. In theory, all he needed to do was sit back and wait for his percentage. Reality, unfortunately, required operating funds from the constipated CAW space exploration and exploitation system. No money was flowing, and he needed funds now .
Carmen was usually his financial ace, his best chance for credit when his need was dire. He stared at the blank wall for a moment and sighed. It was time to look into the offer from the Minoans, as they were the only ones in this solar system holding any money.
The legend beside the door, MENTAL HEALTH FACILITIES, was lined through and OUR HELPFUL BRIG had been added. Ariane grinned. Someone had been bored enough to hack into title storage, but the delinquency was harmless.
After she opened the door, the dichotomy indicated by the changed legend was obvious. On her left, an ugly temporary bulkhead ran straight through the facility. It was raw nano-manufactured ultrapure steel, new enough to emit a metallic smell. On her right was the original waiting room for the “touchy- feely” sessions, as Matt called them. Since generational ship folk, or crèche-get, preferred monochromatic interiors without high contrast, the walls, deck, and furniture made for a soporific environment with their slightly different values of beige.
Two crèche-get, although that name wasn’t always considered tasteful, were waiting for psych sessions. They ignored Ariane as she walked along the dividing bulkhead. A woman watched Feeds on the wall while a young man tapped through articles displayed on the coffee table surface in front of him.
She looked back over her shoulder when she heard the door open again, seeing Warrior Commander dip its tall horns to enter. Warrior Commander chose a solitary seat. Suddenly the two waiting clients were tapping frantically and canceling their appointments, having much better things to do. Nothing could
“More than a dozen contractors have pulled out of their leases on Beta Priamos. They’re being sued, or are under risk of suit.”
“They have insurance—”
“Their insurers are reeling from payouts. I’m sympathetic to those who lost their loved ones, truly, but the claims and lawsuits are overwhelming the financiers. That Abram fellow caused a crisis in what used to be a well-oiled economic machine that drove our space exploration.”
He nodded numbly, having run out of challenges. The smug voice in the back of his head, the one he never liked, pointed out that Carmen hadn’t asked about his safety nor expressed concern for his welfare, nor for that of any other “crisis” survivors.
“Sorry, sweetie, but I don’t see this problem blowing over quickly. Forget about G- 145 and concentrate your efforts somewhere else for a while.” She twirled the towel and laid it around her neck.
“That’s difficult. As second-wave prospectors, we depend upon third-wave exploration and development to make back our expenses. Anyway, there isn’t another solar system opening up for several years.”
“ Everyone should diversify.” Carmen’s cheek dimpled as she flashed a smile, too bright and hard to ever be innocent. “You’ll find something else; I have faith in you. Call me when you get a line on work that’s not connected to G-145.”
“Sure thing.” He projected confidence. He had to; investors, even those specializing in small businesses such as Carmen, were pack predators. First, they couldn’t deviate from pack groupthink, and second, they must never see weakness in their victims—er, clients. They’d devour him and pick his bones clean.
“Look me up when you dock in Athens Point.” She winked and the call was over, a blessing due to the high cost of bandwidth through the Pilgrimage -controlled buoy.
Sure thing, Carmen . After a moment, he cleared the bulkhead display of recent reports from lessees of his claims. In theory, all he needed to do was sit back and wait for his percentage. Reality, unfortunately, required operating funds from the constipated CAW space exploration and exploitation system. No money was flowing, and he needed funds now .
Carmen was usually his financial ace, his best chance for credit when his need was dire. He stared at the blank wall for a moment and sighed. It was time to look into the offer from the Minoans, as they were the only ones in this solar system holding any money.
The legend beside the door, MENTAL HEALTH FACILITIES, was lined through and OUR HELPFUL BRIG had been added. Ariane grinned. Someone had been bored enough to hack into title storage, but the delinquency was harmless.
After she opened the door, the dichotomy indicated by the changed legend was obvious. On her left, an ugly temporary bulkhead ran straight through the facility. It was raw nano-manufactured ultrapure steel, new enough to emit a metallic smell. On her right was the original waiting room for the “touchy- feely” sessions, as Matt called them. Since generational ship folk, or crèche-get, preferred monochromatic interiors without high contrast, the walls, deck, and furniture made for a soporific environment with their slightly different values of beige.
Two crèche-get, although that name wasn’t always considered tasteful, were waiting for psych sessions. They ignored Ariane as she walked along the dividing bulkhead. A woman watched Feeds on the wall while a young man tapped through articles displayed on the coffee table surface in front of him.
She looked back over her shoulder when she heard the door open again, seeing Warrior Commander dip its tall horns to enter. Warrior Commander chose a solitary seat. Suddenly the two waiting clients were tapping frantically and canceling their appointments, having much better things to do. Nothing could
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