Sasha grinned. “Dear old Mom. I had to write a business case in order to get seconds at dinner.”

Mr. Murphy nodded approvingly. “Start ’em early, that’s what I say. How do you want your money?”

The words seemed to pop out of my mouth. I was as surprised as they were. “Cash mostly, but we could use some clothes, and a pair of space-certified weapons.”

If Mr. Murphy thought my request unusual, he gave no sign of it. He nodded understandingly. “You’d never make it past security with regular firearms, and you’d be crazy to use them even if you could. Some of those habitats are surprisingly thin-skinned. Maureen…take a look in the armory. A pair of Browning.9mm flechette guns might meet their needs.”

We made small talk until Maureen returned with two plastic cases. She handed one to each of us. I thumbed mine open, pried the weapon from its nest, and looked it over. It had all the latest enhancements, including some carefully placed weights to add heft in normal gravity situations, an over-sized safety to accommodate gloved hands, a thirty-round magazine, a ninety-round gas reservoir, and a flat black nonreflective finish. The box included thirty rounds of ammo, fifteen standard or “killer” rounds, and fifteen injector or “drug” rounds. I tried to remember when and where I’d learned those names, but couldn’t.

“So what do you think?”

I looked Mr. Murphy in the eye. “We’ll take ’em. We’ll need shoulder holsters, four spare magazines, and a thousand rounds of ammo. Half killer and half drug. And some clothes. Two outfits apiece and a bag to tote them in.”

Yeah, I had some clothes stashed in the sleeping compartment on Level 37 of the Sea-Tac Urboplex, but I wasn’t likely to see them again.

The other man raised an eyebrow. He looked at Sasha. “That’ll drop your cash down to $4,000.00.”

Four thousand dollars? The girl was amazing!

Sasha looked at me and nodded. “If Max says we need that stuff, then we need it.”

I felt warm all over, like a puppy that had been patted on its head, and grinned like an idiot.

The rest went quickly. We changed into one set of new clothes, stowed our weapons in their holsters, loaded the spare magazines, and stashed them in the pouches provided for that purpose. My shirt, jacket, and pants were black, as were my shoes. We were just about to leave when Sasha pointed at my head. “That skull plate is visible from miles away. You should cover it with something.”

She had a point. The Murphys had agreed to escort us as far as the surface, but that was the extent of their protection. We’d be on our own after that, with who knows how many poppers and rent-a-cops hot on our trail. So a ball cap, with the word “Captain” spelled out in gold letters, and scrambled eggs across the bill, served to complete my outfit. I didn’t see the money, but Sasha assured me that it was secured around her waist in a money belt.

And so it was that we took leave of Floater Town, headed up towards the stars, and a future that neither one of us could be sure of.

“Why pay for frills when FENA flies for less?”

The tag line from FENA Air’s Urban Graffiti c paign

We were on Level 45 when Maureen handed us over to a runaway android named Rita and waved good-bye. I hated to part company with her, but understood why she couldn’t accompany us. There was a rather large bounty on her head and plenty of poppers looking to collect it.

Rita, for reasons known only to her manufacturer, had been equipped with four arms. She used them to good effect, pulling herself up the access ladder with monkeylike agility and babbling all the way. “…And that’s why they built the siphon, to provide the spaceport with water, which it needs for a multiplicity of purposes…”

I tuned her out, stopped for a moment, and looked down. I’ve never had trouble with heights, which is a good thing, because it was quite a drop to Level 50. Yeah, there were platforms at each level, but you could see through the steel mesh all the way to the bottom.

Sasha was fifteen or twenty rungs below me, moving with the quick, easy confidence of someone raised with the void all around, our knapsack bouncing on her back. I had offered to carry it, but she had refused.

“Hey!” Rita called. “I haven’t got all day…let’s get a move on down there.”

I forced myself up again. We had managed a three-hour nap, but my body ached for a full night’s sleep. The siphon consisted of a vertical pipe that was five or six feet across and painted the lime-green color that bureaucrats always choose. The structure vibrated next to my shoulder as vast quantities of sea water were pumped to the surface, desalinized, and purified. Or so they claimed, but, as anyone whoever drank the stuff can attest, it tastes like shit.

Beads of water condensed on the pipe’s surface, coalesced into puddles, and streaked down towards the sea. I wondered if they had individual identities, and if so, whether I had swallowed them years before.

The climb went on and on, until my legs ached, and my back was sticky with sweat. I wanted to stop, wanted to rest, but Rita was tireless. Having explained the siphon, and the desalinization plant up above, she had transitioned into the story of her life.

“…exactly why, but it might have been a faulty component, or some sort of power surge. But whatever the reason, I went bonkers, left the job, and never returned. Sure, the android hunters came looking for me, but I made my way to Floater Town and went to work for Murphy Enterprises…”

A low-grade utility bot was doing some routine maintenance work on Level 2, but we crowded past and continued the journey upwards. The top landing was more spacious than all the rest. I heaved myself onto it, gave a sigh of relief, and looked around. I saw a hoist, some over-sized valves, and a maze of pipes. Sasha appeared over the edge, pulled herself inwards, and stood panting on the platform. It did my heart good to see she was tired as well.

Rita gestured us into motion and led us towards a steel fire door.

She hadn’t stopped talking. “…which is why I can’t go with you. But there’s no need…since you’ll be inside Surface Port 12 and quite close to your gate. Well, here we are.”

She turned. Unlike robots designed for frequent interaction with human beings, Rita had been given a frozen manikin-type face. It was locked in a perpetual smile. Her voice came from a speaker located on the front surface of her plastic throat. “It’s been nice to spend some time with you. Some people say that I talk too much. I hope it didn’t bother you.”

I suppose it’s stupid to worry about a machine’s feelings, especially when everyone agrees that they don’t have any, but I wanted Rita to know that we appreciated her help. I held out my hand. She took it. “No, Rita. It didn’t bother us at all. Thanks for getting us here safely. Take care of yourself.”

“I will, Mr. Maxon. Good-bye, Ms. Casad. Have a safe journey.”

Sasha sent one of her “you are a hopeless idiot” looks in my direction and said, “Thanks.”

Rita, her face wooden as always, nodded.

We opened the door and stepped outside. There was a loud click as it closed behind us. So much for that line of retreat.

A moon flight had landed, and passengers were streaming towards the baggage area. They were contract workers for the most part, miners with dilated eyes, technicians who ate too much, and pilots who had pushed one load too many. They walked like ancient helmet divers, forcing themselves forward under the weight of Earth-normal gravity, sweat beading their foreheads.

I nodded to Sasha and we stepped out into the flow. We, like the other passengers headed for Gate 426, struggled against the current like fish swimming upstream. Assuming there was a river in which fish still swam, that is. I stopped below a bank of monitors. “We’re looking for FENA Air Flight 124.”