The Best of World SF by Lavie Tidhar (best romance novels of all time TXT) 📗

*

The cognitive module in my brain shuffled through the data and fed back to my retinals.

According to statistical probability, there were over a hundred million asteroids of this size and class. The challenge was that less than one in a hundred thousand could be observed and traced from any real distance. If you aimed to use optics, infrared spectroscopy, thermal flux or lidar for details on dimension, composition, rotation or surface topography, well… The asteroids were simply too far or too small, their orbital cycles too long. The significant details could only be captured within a certain distance, say 0.01 astronomical units or so. Otherwise, it was needle in haystack stuff.

When such treasures were located in the dark starry field, we sheepdogs were dispatched from the nearest interplanetary resources station. These fully automated robots were powered by solar power and xenon propellant. The newest Hall V model propellant delivered up to eighty kilowatts and five thousand seconds of specific impulse. Approaching its targets, the sheepdog would circle several times, sniffing out its target, finding the most sensitive points. It then would sink six spiral anchors into the asteroid’s surface. Six vector propulsion engines would start up then, ceasing the asteroid’s rotation and thrusting it from its original orbit onto a precisely calculated path. Slowly and surely, the asteroid would reach the nearest point of gravitational stability, likely the L2 or L4 Lagrange Points, where it could catch up with its new friends.

Now Freckles had locked onto five asteroids slowly approaching each other, spinning like Tetris blocks in search of the perfect point of contact. The impact shouldn’t be too heavy or too light. Everything had to be just right. They connected into a nearly spherical whole as though returning to an embryonic state.

‘I guess… it’s like snooker for you,’ I said. ‘Look at the beautiful arc of the cue ball. Only a master could summon her scattered soldiers with such finesse, from various corners of space to come together for the perfect kiss.’

Freckles sniggered, as though my flattery were beneath her.

Though most of the work was automated by robots and code, this was still space. Anything could happen. Freckle’s job was to interfere in case of emergency, such as when an asteroid deviated from orbit, or a sheepdog failed. She guarded against rigid body fractures and perilous debris that might eject upon impact. She was the veterinarian, ready at any time to rescue both the sheep and the sheepdogs. For us, nothing was so precious as that wool.

‘All right, Square Face. See you when I get back. I’m off to shear wool.’

As Freckles wormed her way into her spacesuit, I realized just how small she was. She looked like a teenager though she was probably more like twenty-six or seven. There were quite a few women on base: Hairbeast, Braids, Long-Legs… The company required specific gender ratios. Women were more durable than men in space, scoring higher than men in resistance to radiation, hunger tolerance and psychological resilience. A balance of women and men also reduced the level of friction and anxiety, assuming both sides chose not to act territorially by enforcing the norms of old-school monogamy.

I slept with most of the women but never Freckles. We had tried to get something going a few times, but each time ended in laughter. There was this glass wall between us. I didn’t know how the wall got there, but I didn’t want it to break. Its shards could rain down and wound innocent people.

‘I’m out. See you in a bit.’ Her face was just barely visible behind the mask, which obscured her hallmark feature – the freckles dotting her nose.

‘Careful,’ I said. Already, I couldn’t remember where her name came from. All of the miners had their own number – I was EM-L4-D28-53b – but we never used that crap to refer to each other. We mostly referred one another by one’s most obvious feature, which became their new name.

None of us remembered real names. That was, we were told, part of the contract. Our memories were sequestered and encoded into blocks to avoid emotional fluctuations that could affect our mining work. This included names, families, childhood traumas, pets and actual debt figures. Those figures were why we were here. They were encrypted in blockchains embedded in genes. No one could tamper with them. Our workload was recorded and converted into deducted debt and interest calculated in real time. It didn’t matter whether you were on Causeway Bay or a Lagrange point, all were equal in the eyes of the genetic debt system.

‘Chill out. You already said I’m a master. Besides, I’ve debt to pay.’ She winked at me.

Freckles always said I must have been born in the Year of the Rat, too cautious for greatness. I always relied on the skill tree implanted in my cognitive module when arguing with her. Some professions were designed for cautious responses. Data surveyors like me could fluently call data to calculate the likelihood of any extreme situation, as well as abstract a sense of the probabilities. This pattern was hardwired into our bodies, like a fear of heights or water is engrained in a person suffering from one phobia or another. It wasn’t as though we could take the measure of our courage and cowardice and alter that balance.

On reflection now, however, I’d say it wasn’t that some external hand had placed a few timid pieces into the jigsaw puzzle of my personality. This was just the fact of who I fundamentally was.

‘Let’s try again when you get back.’ I tried to conceal my anxiety with the joke. Not sleeping with her didn’t mean I didn’t care for her.

Freckles made an indecent gesture and disappeared into the hatch.

2.

My anxiety didn’t come from nowhere.

Freckles would have to pilot Hermit Crab from the bunker where we lived. The bunker – which we called Mother Whale – was actually a hollowed-out cylindrical C-type asteroid thirty kilometers in length and five kilometers in