Hazel felt relieved when she saw the dishes and mast of Eratosthenes Dome poke up over the escarpment. The front left motor of her surveyor wasn’t going to last much longer, according to the temperature readouts. Something was seriously wrong with the wheel; she knew that the motor was due for a rewind. It only put out about half power, and nearly got her stuck out on the plane. She nearly called the company for a tow, but, thinking that she could save everyone the expense, she nursed the surveyor onward towards home.
But home was still a long way from here. She could hope for a fuel cell recharge and, perhaps, a little entertainment in the little dome outpost. The company would likely take it out of her salary, but it was better than the cost of that tow.
The radio chirped for her attention, likely the local traffic controller.
“United Surveyor 261 here.” She answered flatly.
“What’s your biz 261?” a voice phase-shifted back, sounding like it came out of a tin can with a wire.
“In for supplies. Need some rest.”
“How long 261?” The voice drawled on, obviously he needed some rest too, or maybe some exterior stimulation. It could get pretty dull monitoring the surrounding area for radar contacts. She knew from experience.
“24 hours. Need to get down to Copernicus for an overhaul.”
The static crackled for a few moments while the controller conferred with whatever authority he needed to.
“You are clear 261. Proceed to docking ring 10.” The contact cut off with a short squawk.
“Yeah, and have a nice day too,” she added.
Eratosthenes was a small dome, as community domes went. It held a semi-permanent population of a couple hundred or so, she guessed. She wrestled her surveyor to the docking ring and cycled the lock.
The air in the dome was none too fresh, but after a few weeks locked up in the surveyor, it was like a sea breeze. She secured the lock and made her way into the narrow port in the back of the docking ring, climbing down the ladder into a more human-sized corridor. She arranged the hydrogen and oxygen transfer to her surveyor from the dock terminal. The cost wouldn’t be too bad since it would be offset by the exchange of water that had been produced by her fuel cells. Her company ID was recognized and credited. She decided to go looking for a distraction.
The station had a central atrium and corridors radiated from its center to the outer rings. She headed into the interior, through what was apparently living quarters. It was cluttered and rather filthy. Its denizens tended to leave their doors open for air flow, and a strange mix of odors born of cooking and other activities wafted from the rooms. Nosy neighbors watched her carefully as she passed, none acknowledging her existence in any way, save as a potential threat.
Unaccosted, she found her way easily to the central atrium where several venues lined its circumference. Hypnotic music thumped from a small club, the Primal Sieve. It got her moving, and she found herself drawn into it.
A haze of smoke filled the space, which would normally make a life support professional pretty pissed. Somehow, despite its size, the station had produced a gathering of dancers on the floor in front of the stage. A DJ was orchestrating a great mix from an array of samplers and turntables which was based on Fallen Angel’s classic throbmuzic standard Where the Hell is Heaven, adding a shriek of some kind of animal strategically for emphasis along with a whole new forest of percussion. The subsonic base pulsed through her as she bellied up to the bar.
“What do you need, sweetie?” the bartender asked, her eyes were cheerful, yet tired as she checked Hazel out.
“Just another life,” she responded, “but a beer would be fine.”
“We don’t have any new lives on tap, but we do have the beer,” the bartender chuckled. She gave Hazel a wink as she pulled a draft for her.
Hazel was flattered by the attention, but she didn’t go that way. She collected her beer, making her way across the floor to an unassuming booth in the corner, weaving through the entranced dancers.
An elbow went into her arm, sloshing a good dollop of beer on the dancer and the floor.
“You bitch!” the girl exclaimed. She was bulky and clumsy, obviously fresh from Earth. It took a while to get used to the low gravity, but this girl was huge. She was probably just as clumsy in one gee as three.
Hazel stood her ground, staring back at the big girl calmly. “Sorry, but you backed into me. You should really be more careful.”
“What was that, Bitch?” the girl asked incredulously, “You can’t be serious, ‘cause I will take you out!” Her pupils were dilating hard; obviously she was on some kind of stimulant. That just ticked Hazel off even more, but she didn’t want any trouble here.
“Look, why don’t you just continue dancing with your friend there. You’ll dry off in a few minutes.” She flashed a quick smile, and turned to go to the table.
The girl growled and lunged at Hazel.
Hazel saw the telegraphed roundhouse years before it arrived, and seeing how off-balance the girl was, it was easy to dodge and catch her arm, pulling the girl forward and over. The big girl sailed in a lazy arc across the room, pushing into another pair of dancers, and knocking the three of them down in a pile. The couple picked themselves up almost immediately. No one was seriously hurt at all.
But it had really pissed off the Earth girl. She scrambled up, bouncing a little too high into the ceiling, and coming down a little shaky on her feet. She obviously wasn’t used to being on the humiliating end of such exchanges, and was looking for payback. She launched herself like a rocket.
Crap, thought Hazel, I don’t need this. She took a little hop into the air, coming up to the ceiling and rebounding down. The girl was in mid-flight, unable to change course, and was directly beneath her when she came down hard with both feet, one solidly on the back, the other in the back of the girl’s head, driving her into the floor. She bounced lightly away. Lunar ballet was an art, surely.
The girl gasped, the wind was knocked out of her. “I’m gonna do you for that,” she muttered, reaching for the pouch at her waist, but a bouncer descended on her.
Hazel’s eyes never left her opponent, but arms enfolded her from behind and the bouncer trapped her head in a full Nelson. He was big and strong, obviously a native. She didn’t struggle. “All right, you’ve got me. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Looks like you found some anyway,” the bouncer said. “I know you didn’t start it, but I have to put you out.”
“Yeah, yeah, let’s go,” she said, allowing the bouncer to push her to the entrance.
Out in the atrium again, he let eased up and let her go, seeing her new friend tossed out on her dirt-loving face. She had been stupid enough to resist. She looked up at the bouncer. He wasn’t bad looking, she thought momentarily.
“Nice moves,” he said. “You really shouldn’t pick on the new meat though.”
“Believe me, I didn’t want to.” She looked him over a little, then offered her hand. “I’m Hazel. Do you know a quieter place to get a drink?”
He laughed and shook her hand. “Name’s Roger. You buyin’?”
She flashed a smile at him, “Of course. I’ll twist your arm….”
“Oh. Uncle,” he said wryly.
Next: All Work And No Play
