‘Hey, Pepper!’ shouted an Aandrisk woman unloading crates from a cargo drone. ‘Good morning!’
‘G’morning!’ Pepper drifted over to her. ‘Need a hand?’
‘Nah,’ the Aandrisk said. ‘That’s what bots are for.’ She nodded toward the small, bulbous squad working together to haul a crate into a shopfront.
Pepper gestured toward the kit. ‘Hish, this is my new assistant, Sidra. Sidra, this is Hish, owner of Open Circuit.’
Sidra flipped the kit’s hand into eshka – Aandrisk hand speak for nice to meet you. She was glad she’d taken the time to download such things.
Pepper raised her brow, but said nothing.
Hish returned eshka enthusiastically, then reached out to shake Sidra’s hand Human-style. ‘It’s a pleasure,’ she said. ‘Have you been to the caves before? I haven’t seen you around.’
‘I just got to the Port,’ Sidra said. ‘It’s my first time here.’
‘Oh, welcome!’ Hish said. ‘Where are you from?’
Sidra was ready for this. She pulled up the repository of technically-true responses she and Pepper had prepared together. ‘I was born on a long-haul ship. Decided to finally get my feet on the ground.’
‘Ahh, a spacer, huh? Any system in particular, or just all over?’
Sidra scrambled for an appropriate response. ‘I started out in the GC. I’m not a citizen, though.’ This seemed like an unnecessary point to volunteer, but Pepper had assured her this was the right track to head down. There are plenty of crazy Human isolationists doing who-knows-what out there, Pepper had said. If you were born here but aren’t a citizen, that means your parents didn’t register you. That’ll make people think your parents were fringers in the neighbourhood for supplies. And given that Human establishments on the other side of the fence are rarely anything anybody wants to discuss in casual conversation, you won’t get asked much beyond that.
Hish gave Sidra an understanding nod, proving Pepper right. ‘I gotcha,’ she said with a bittersweet smile. ‘Well, you could hardly ask for someone better suited than this one’ – she nodded at Pepper – ‘to show you the ropes. You got a place to stay?’ The question was asked calmly, but with unmistakable concern.
‘Yes.’
Pepper clapped the kit on the shoulder. ‘We’ve put her up. She’s going to get sick of me real quick.’
Hish laughed, then touched Pepper’s forearm. ‘You and Blue are good people. I’ve always said so.’ She straightened up, glancing at her heavily laden bots. ‘Well, I shouldn’t keep you two. Sidra, have a wonderful first day. And if you ever need comp tech gear, you come straight to me.’
Sidra waited until they were out of earshot. ‘Pepper, did she . . . did she feel sorry for me?’
‘She thinks you’ve gotten away from some bad shit,’ Pepper said. ‘Which is exactly what we want. The more people think you came from something rough, the less they’ll ask you questions.’
‘I see,’ Sidra said. She was glad for the lack of prying, but something about the way the Aandrisk woman had looked at her made her uneasy. She didn’t want to be the subject of pity. She watched Pepper as she ambled her way through the caves, greeting peers, trading small talk, asking technical questions that made Sidra long for the Linkings. She watched people’s reactions, too, as she recycled her tailored responses over and over. Their replies were always variations on the same theme: kindness toward Sidra, respect for Pepper. The former was nice, but the latter seemed more desirable. Pepper had come from some ‘bad shit’, too, but no one looked at her as if she were a stray pet. Pepper was useful here. Sidra wasn’t yet. It would take time, she knew, but the continued lack of a clear-cut purpose was unpleasant.
They arrived at a sedately decorated shopfront, far less flashy than its neighbours. ‘Here we are,’ Pepper said, gesturing dramatically. A sign made of scrap announced the purpose of the open-air counter beneath it:
THE RUST BUCKET
Tech swap and fix-it shop
Pepper and Blue, Proprietors
‘Blue no longer works here, correct?’ Sidra asked.
Pepper waved her wristpatch over a scanner by the counter. There was a brief, quiet crackle as a security shield switched off. ‘Correct. He stops by sometimes, though, if he’s feeling tired of artists being artists.’ She flipped up the counter door and headed back into her space. There was a long workbench opposite the counter, with plenty of room between. Behind that was a doorway, through which there appeared to be a small workshop, comfortably removed from the territory of customers. Sidra kept the kit out of Pepper’s way as she filled the counter with display boxes full of second-hand components, each smartly wrapped and labelled.
‘Can you hand me that?’ Pepper asked.