most of them upscale but reasonably priced.
It was government built, and they’re still paying off the cost, so we’d never have anything like it. But damn, it’s neat.
I was actually able to find a maintenance shed in the garden, hidden under a fake rock outcropping. I wedged the door closed and slept wonderfully in G, with the hissing roar of the cascade overhead. Okay, I may have mouthed an engineer I know for the info and the “romance” of sleeping there. Totally worth it. I wasn’t going to abuse the access code. I moved to a bunkie the next night.
But I specifically needed to find either a cross-system leg or one that was guaranteed through Sol back to somewhere else.
A seven-day week later, I had one that took me all the way to Caledonia’s L5 point where I could actually see a planet again for the first time in months. Very pretty, but I just feel right in space. We dropped cargo, stowed more, and boosted for their JP2 to the Freehold.
So I was back in one of my homes, in my regular work environment, and the routes were all screwed up because the UN bureaucrats were trying to put rules on top of the existing rules, on top of the established way of doing things, on top of the ornery spacer way of life, on top of the anarchic Freehold streak, on top of the Freehold spacer lifestyle of “fuck everything except real world safety.”
They weren’t having much luck, but they were still keeping things slow.
It’s impossible to explain how it works. It’s a culture. There are habitat people, deep spacers, intras in a different loop. Techs, sales, astro. Each system has its own influence, stations aren’t like ground, spacers aren’t like habitots. If you haven’t worked in it for at least several months, it’s just a bunch of people moving about.
Apparently, the people in charge of “space occupant movement management” were all from Earth proper. As in, dirtside. They were completely without grasp. They didn’t manage to organize anything, just piss people off, get in the way, slow travel. That pissed off habitats, grounders, businesses who needed those metals, gear and gas.
Everyone saw them as outsiders. They had no friends.
They still got in the way. Even though they weren’t touching intra-system traffic, it depended on outsystem loads.
Every bunkie was booked, and I couldn’t afford the sotels that were available, never mind the actual inns. I was going to have to doss creatively.
I didn’t have any playbuddies in that station. I didn’t want to take short naps in waiting rooms and lobbies. Sitting up to sleep is rough, even in low G. Short sleep isn’t productive for very long. I also didn’t want to annoy the locals or be seen doing that while trying to cadge a berth.
But I needed somewhere clean.
I walked around looking as if I was going somewhere, keeping my eyes open for signs.
I found a bay used for automated dollies, where they plugged in to charge. Back behind there would be okay, even if it would be a bit loud. But there were already a couple of whole crews back there. I figured they’d gotten permission, and I shouldn’t get into their space.
There was a gated supply area with spare cable, bearing and mounts. It had space and wasn’t likely to be entered, but it was officially locked. I could hop the fence, but I’d be trespassing.
The rest of the dock was like that. Workable spaces taken, others not available.
Down the hub were the usual machine shops and outfitters. I could find a place in the back passages, but they were dusty, with lubricants, goo and polymer gels making it messy and occasionally toxic, no matter what the air laws said.
Past that were bars. Absolute worst case, I could try to sling hash or drinks, or strip, and sleep in the dressing or storage room. That would make getting hired even harder, though.
I grabbed a tuna sandwich and kept looking.
I found what I needed in the oxy hub.
The oxy hub has full and empty bottles for suits, scooters,
It was government built, and they’re still paying off the cost, so we’d never have anything like it. But damn, it’s neat.
I was actually able to find a maintenance shed in the garden, hidden under a fake rock outcropping. I wedged the door closed and slept wonderfully in G, with the hissing roar of the cascade overhead. Okay, I may have mouthed an engineer I know for the info and the “romance” of sleeping there. Totally worth it. I wasn’t going to abuse the access code. I moved to a bunkie the next night.
But I specifically needed to find either a cross-system leg or one that was guaranteed through Sol back to somewhere else.
A seven-day week later, I had one that took me all the way to Caledonia’s L5 point where I could actually see a planet again for the first time in months. Very pretty, but I just feel right in space. We dropped cargo, stowed more, and boosted for their JP2 to the Freehold.
So I was back in one of my homes, in my regular work environment, and the routes were all screwed up because the UN bureaucrats were trying to put rules on top of the existing rules, on top of the established way of doing things, on top of the ornery spacer way of life, on top of the anarchic Freehold streak, on top of the Freehold spacer lifestyle of “fuck everything except real world safety.”
They weren’t having much luck, but they were still keeping things slow.
It’s impossible to explain how it works. It’s a culture. There are habitat people, deep spacers, intras in a different loop. Techs, sales, astro. Each system has its own influence, stations aren’t like ground, spacers aren’t like habitots. If you haven’t worked in it for at least several months, it’s just a bunch of people moving about.
Apparently, the people in charge of “space occupant movement management” were all from Earth proper. As in, dirtside. They were completely without grasp. They didn’t manage to organize anything, just piss people off, get in the way, slow travel. That pissed off habitats, grounders, businesses who needed those metals, gear and gas.
Everyone saw them as outsiders. They had no friends.
They still got in the way. Even though they weren’t touching intra-system traffic, it depended on outsystem loads.
Every bunkie was booked, and I couldn’t afford the sotels that were available, never mind the actual inns. I was going to have to doss creatively.
I didn’t have any playbuddies in that station. I didn’t want to take short naps in waiting rooms and lobbies. Sitting up to sleep is rough, even in low G. Short sleep isn’t productive for very long. I also didn’t want to annoy the locals or be seen doing that while trying to cadge a berth.
But I needed somewhere clean.
I walked around looking as if I was going somewhere, keeping my eyes open for signs.
I found a bay used for automated dollies, where they plugged in to charge. Back behind there would be okay, even if it would be a bit loud. But there were already a couple of whole crews back there. I figured they’d gotten permission, and I shouldn’t get into their space.
There was a gated supply area with spare cable, bearing and mounts. It had space and wasn’t likely to be entered, but it was officially locked. I could hop the fence, but I’d be trespassing.
The rest of the dock was like that. Workable spaces taken, others not available.
Down the hub were the usual machine shops and outfitters. I could find a place in the back passages, but they were dusty, with lubricants, goo and polymer gels making it messy and occasionally toxic, no matter what the air laws said.
Past that were bars. Absolute worst case, I could try to sling hash or drinks, or strip, and sleep in the dressing or storage room. That would make getting hired even harder, though.
I grabbed a tuna sandwich and kept looking.
I found what I needed in the oxy hub.
The oxy hub has full and empty bottles for suits, scooters,
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