Humanity 2.0 by Alex Shvartsman (ed)

Author:Alex Shvartsman (ed)
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: transhuman, SF, anthology
ISBN: 9781612423104
Publisher: Phoenix Pick
Published: 2016-10-15T07:00:00+00:00

ANGRY ROSE’S LAMENT

–––––––––––––––––––Cat Rambo

What has happened, I cannot change…what will happen, I cannot decide. I am only responsible for the here and now. I will be honest in my dealings; I will acknowledge the pain I have caused. I can offer amends; I cannot demand that they be accepted. I can ask for forgiveness; I cannot demand that I be forgiven.

—LITANY FOR THE RECOVERING

ALL HIS LIFE, Paul Rutter had hated dirt. He’d been raisedin a decrepit Project by a foster mother, along with six other children, and those early years had left him memories of stained sheets, maggots in the sink, and grime that you couldn’t scrub away. It was one of the reasons he’d worked to become a Spacer, and when he reached his first station, smelled the tang of recycled air and water, and saw a metal hallway corroded with the effluvium that humans inevitably deposit everywhere they touch, it was a vast disappointment. But better, even so, than the roots from which he’d come. And now his career, such as it was, had brought him back to a place as dirty as he’d ever seen.

The main feature of Linko Port was grease. Greasy dirt, black as tar, lay underfoot, grinding under the boot heels of the Fleet soldiers keeping order. The smell of machinists’ grease from the yard that maintained the ferries coming down from its counterpart satellite far above, circling in unison with the slime green moons, was heavy in the air. Grease and black grime coated the walls of the buildings, assembled from Alliance plastics and weatherworn native woods. Of the dozens of races using this common rendezvous point, all seemed shabby and grubby, particularly the humans.

“Welcome to Linko. First assignment planet side in a while?” his attendant asked as he checked through Paul’s records.

“How can you tell?”

“It’s in the walk. Spacers move their feet a little different, come down flatfooted like they’re not used to the pull.”

Rutter grunted acknowledgement. “What do I need to carry here?” he asked.

“Some form of ID; best not to leave your docco at home. No guns. Credit chits for tipping, if you plan on being out doing much. Your guild marque if you’re dealing as a rep.”

“I’m rep to the Solins.”

The man’s smile faded. “Yeah?” he said noncommittally. “For what company?”

“Little outfit, doubt you’ve heard of it.” Rutter preferred to keep his cards close to his chest. Besides, RecoveryCo’s humble beginnings, compared to the larger corporations, were a little embarrassing. No matter, he thought. They’d done well taking a small company and turning it into an active corp, capable of interstellar negotiations. The resources provided by Solin might be the company’s big strike, help them struggle their way to a respectable third tier status as an all-out, multi-market corporation.

“Not one of the Big Three? Thought CocaCorp would want a piece of that.”

Rutter had wondered that himself. By all accounts, Solin was a plum piece of real estate, the kind one of the big companies like General M or Bushink would snatch up as an asset.

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