Refugee
Chapter 6 — BUBBLE, BUBBLE
Callisto Orbit, 2-5-'15—We stood before the bubble at last. I was excruciatingly tired, but excitement fended off my fatigue for the moment. The bubble most resembled a cratered planetoid, only the craters were actually recessed ports sealed with tough space-glass.
The globe sat on the ground, but I knew its gravity lenses abated most of its weight so it was actually feather-light. It was about ten times my height; I'm less than two meters tall, but still growing. Call it a good sixteen meters for the diameter of the sphere; it's hard to judge with the naked eye, but that's a standard size for small space bubbles. They aren't uniform, actually, because their patterns of growth differ, but they do run pretty true to form.
The idea was that such a sphere would be halved, with one section reserved for equipment, supplies, baggage and such, and the other half providing eight cubic meters of living space to each of one hundred passengers. It all worked out mathematically; I had studied it in school. But it was different, seeing the great dull hulk of it looming before me, blotting out part of the horizon.
The air lock opened, and we scrambled in. The supply vehicle had a separate lock, designed for things that didn't need oxygen or air pressure for survival; my father had had to deposit our short-hop payment there before we got our ride. The bubble lock's outer panel slid closed behind us, and our weight decreased to about half its prior amount because of the effect of the shielding. The pressure came up, making our suits go slack. Faith was finally able to relax her hold on the leaky patch and straighten up.
That must have been a tremendous burden off her mind!
“How many?” a voice demanded from a speaker. It was good to hear normal speech again!
“Five,” my father said, lifting back his helmet. The rest of us did the same.
“Fifteen hundred dollars, cash in advance,” the voice said.
My mother gasped. “We were told two hundred apiece,” my father said evenly.
“The price has gone up. Pay or leave.”
We knew we couldn't leave. But we didn't have the money. It had been all we could do to raise what we had. I saw the little lines of desperation form in my father's cheek, but his voice was admirably steady.
“We haven't got it. You should have sent word.”
“Then get out. No freeloaders here.”
My father paused, signaling us to silence. Then he said: “Put your helmets back on, folks. They don't want our money. We'll have to take another bubble.”
In shock, I fumbled at my helmet. Faith's face was as pale as death; she knew she would die if she had to go out again. But at the same time, I knew my father was bluffing; he would not let us all go out.
I looked at Spirit, and knew the same thought had come to her. If the fee was now three hundred dollars each, only three of us could go. Two would have to return to Maraud. My father and mother would sacrifice themselves to get the three children aboard. But that wasn't right!
Slowly, her little face set with unchildish intensity, Spirit nodded, answering my unasked question. We were the youngest, and most adaptable; we would volunteer to return, so that our parents could go. After all, we were the ones who had humiliated the scion and brought this trouble upon our family. We were the ones most deserving of punishment. We could conceal our identity, somehow, in Maraud, or maybe go to the coffee plantation. The notion was not pleasant, but it was viable.
“You really don't have the fee?” the voice asked, sounding disgusted.
“Only the fee we were told,” my father replied. “One thousand dollars in gold. The supply vehicle took the rest, to carry us here.”
“In gold?”
“In gold. We had to liquidate everything we had.”
“That's enough for three, and some for extras.”
I opened my mouth, but my father put his hand out to silence me without even looking. How well he knew me! “There will be other
Chapter 6 — BUBBLE, BUBBLE
Callisto Orbit, 2-5-'15—We stood before the bubble at last. I was excruciatingly tired, but excitement fended off my fatigue for the moment. The bubble most resembled a cratered planetoid, only the craters were actually recessed ports sealed with tough space-glass.
The globe sat on the ground, but I knew its gravity lenses abated most of its weight so it was actually feather-light. It was about ten times my height; I'm less than two meters tall, but still growing. Call it a good sixteen meters for the diameter of the sphere; it's hard to judge with the naked eye, but that's a standard size for small space bubbles. They aren't uniform, actually, because their patterns of growth differ, but they do run pretty true to form.
The idea was that such a sphere would be halved, with one section reserved for equipment, supplies, baggage and such, and the other half providing eight cubic meters of living space to each of one hundred passengers. It all worked out mathematically; I had studied it in school. But it was different, seeing the great dull hulk of it looming before me, blotting out part of the horizon.
The air lock opened, and we scrambled in. The supply vehicle had a separate lock, designed for things that didn't need oxygen or air pressure for survival; my father had had to deposit our short-hop payment there before we got our ride. The bubble lock's outer panel slid closed behind us, and our weight decreased to about half its prior amount because of the effect of the shielding. The pressure came up, making our suits go slack. Faith was finally able to relax her hold on the leaky patch and straighten up.
That must have been a tremendous burden off her mind!
“How many?” a voice demanded from a speaker. It was good to hear normal speech again!
“Five,” my father said, lifting back his helmet. The rest of us did the same.
“Fifteen hundred dollars, cash in advance,” the voice said.
My mother gasped. “We were told two hundred apiece,” my father said evenly.
“The price has gone up. Pay or leave.”
We knew we couldn't leave. But we didn't have the money. It had been all we could do to raise what we had. I saw the little lines of desperation form in my father's cheek, but his voice was admirably steady.
“We haven't got it. You should have sent word.”
“Then get out. No freeloaders here.”
My father paused, signaling us to silence. Then he said: “Put your helmets back on, folks. They don't want our money. We'll have to take another bubble.”
In shock, I fumbled at my helmet. Faith's face was as pale as death; she knew she would die if she had to go out again. But at the same time, I knew my father was bluffing; he would not let us all go out.
I looked at Spirit, and knew the same thought had come to her. If the fee was now three hundred dollars each, only three of us could go. Two would have to return to Maraud. My father and mother would sacrifice themselves to get the three children aboard. But that wasn't right!
Slowly, her little face set with unchildish intensity, Spirit nodded, answering my unasked question. We were the youngest, and most adaptable; we would volunteer to return, so that our parents could go. After all, we were the ones who had humiliated the scion and brought this trouble upon our family. We were the ones most deserving of punishment. We could conceal our identity, somehow, in Maraud, or maybe go to the coffee plantation. The notion was not pleasant, but it was viable.
“You really don't have the fee?” the voice asked, sounding disgusted.
“Only the fee we were told,” my father replied. “One thousand dollars in gold. The supply vehicle took the rest, to carry us here.”
“In gold?”
“In gold. We had to liquidate everything we had.”
“That's enough for three, and some for extras.”
I opened my mouth, but my father put his hand out to silence me without even looking. How well he knew me! “There will be other
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