Freelance On The Galactic Tunnel Network by E. Foner (best beach reads of all time TXT) 📗

“I’ll lose some friends and I may not be welcome in certain places.”

“I won’t push you, but think about it. Did you go over the Borten Four material?”

“Yes, but other than the capital letters, I don’t see the connection with my MORE investigation.”

“It started after the Drazens invited the local humans coming off a long-term contract to lease the mining habitat. As soon as the big creds started rolling in, SHARE showed up on the scene and began buying out or leasing asteroid claims. They bring in their own miners on contracts.”

“If the claim owners wanted to cash out, what’s that to us?”

“That’s the way the Drazens see it, and I don’t blame them, but according to our information, SHARE has been managing their properties as if the habitat didn’t exist. They shuttle in new miners from out-of-system, drop them at the claims, and supply all of their needs.”

“I still don’t see the problem.”

“It’s the company store system, John. The miners are dependent on SHARE for not only the food they eat and the water they drink but the very oxygen they breathe. We’ve obtained copies of the contracts SHARE is offering workers, and while there’s nothing illegal about it, you’d never see terms like that in an alien contract.”

“The Stryx have standards for interspecies hiring.”

“And the aliens have ethics. We have a Verlock co-op student who has been reading up on human history, and he suggested that rather than being an acronym, SHARE is just short for sharecroppers.”

“And the crop is gold.”

“Nickel, mainly, but gold as well,” Clive said. “I want you to see if you can recruit any of those sharecroppers for us so we can figure out what’s really going on.”

“Could be tricky if they never come in to the habitat. Even in Zero-G, hard rock asteroid mining involves moving a lot of mass around. The miners can probably keep up their muscle tone for a while without sleeping and exercising on the habitat at Earth-normal weight, or whatever they spin the thing at.”

“See what you can do, and let me know if you decide to stand for the council. Rendezvous starts in two weeks?”

“I figure I can spend ten days in the Borten system and still make it,” John said. He looked around the conference room and nodded in approval. “I like the globe and the table, but I’ve got to catch some sleep and move a ton of acorns.”

Ten

“Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked.

“I think so,” Georgia said. She glanced across the small table at Larry, who nodded and waved the holographic menu out of existence. “I’ll have the Trader’s Special and a small salad.”

“What will you have to drink?”

“Is the Frunge tea safe for humans?”

“Everything we serve is safe for human consumption. I’ve worked here almost a year and I’ve never seen an alien in the place. I don’t think there’s been a Frunge on the habitat since they leased it to us.”

“Then I’ll try it.”

The young woman made a note on her tab and turned to Larry.

“I’ll have the spaghetti and meatballs and whatever you have on draft,” the trader said.

“We’re out of draft beer, the only brewer on the habitat had something go wrong with the last batch. We just got in a shipment of red wine from somewhere.”

“What kind of red wine?” Georgia asked.

“The red kind,” the waitress said, turning back to the reporter. “What other kind could there be?”

“You know, the type of grapes, where it’s from, the vintage?”

“You can get red or white, but we’re out of the white.”

“How about cans?” Larry asked.

“I’ve never seen wine in cans, though it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” the waitress mused. “If you want water with a shot of vodka, it gets rid of that yucky recycled taste.”

“I’m not really a drinker, just a beer now and then. Do you have any fresh juice?”

“Does it count as fresh if I let you stir in the powder yourself?”

“Close enough,” Larry said.

“It will be a few minutes,” the waitress told them. “Everything is precooked, but we only have one microwave.”

“Too much information,” Georgia said to her dinner companion as soon as the waitress was out of earshot. “I’m sorry I dragged you in here. I’m a sucker for décor.”

“You mean the tables made from old crates and the netting hanging from the ceiling?”

“It reminds me of a seafood place where I went on a date once while I was in university.”

“How was it?”

“The date? A disaster. The food wasn’t that great either. I wonder if all the restaurants on Poalim are this bad.”

“It’s a service habitat for the ice harvesting fleet, Georgia. I’m surprised they grow enough fresh food to even be able to offer a salad. Most places like this have to import all of their food because there’s no room for raising crops.”

“It didn’t look that small when we came in for docking.”

“The closer you get to a space structure, the bigger it looks. It’s tough to judge the size of these places unless you cheat and ask your ship’s controller for help. We’re on the commercial deck, and the innermost deck houses the repair facility, but the outer decks are all cabin space.”

“Wow, I’d go nuts.”

“You’re spoiled from living on a Stryx station,” Larry said. “People are pretty adaptable, and they come to a habitat like this to make money, not to make a home. Right now this place is sort of a boomtown. Once the easy pickings are gone, most of the population will move on to the next hot ice harvesting play, and the people who remain for the long term will have more space and improve the quality of life