Scene 4

This is a sample chapter from Kimberly McCoy’s forthcoming debut novel. 

Before Jac took off to the colonies on her rogue mission, she had to check in on Alma, whose pod was down the hall from Jac’s. She made the trek back to the public housing sector after agreeing to meet Lin back on the ship later.

The small old woman was sitting where she always sat, at her workbench with her machine glasses engulfing most of her face. Alma was the best fixer in their neighborhood and she always had a steady supply of bots, links and biohack devices in her pod. She had even been granted the unheard-of allotment of two adjoining pods to herself—one as a living quarter, one a working quarter—because she was so useful.

As Jac walked through the door, she inhaled the familiar smell of grease with a faint hint of clover. That and the fact that Jac’s air filtration face field kicked on told her Alma was generating a small amount of ozone, which meant she was probably working on a fusion charger. Those things always needed a kick-start. 

“I was wondering when you’d drop by again,” Alma said with a smile, eyes fixed on the handheld device. “I could use some more of those ghostmarket blueberries from that contact you have in the South C neighborhood.”

“Ooo, Alma, you know that’s going to cost you,” Jac said and winced playfully as she sat opposite the woman. “And it’s usually me coming to you for the ghostmarket requests. I do not know where you get this disposable coin.”

“You see how busy I keep, child,” said Alma, faking indignation. “Cosmos knows I don’t do it for my health.”

Alma was a woman of medium build who looked smaller than she was, likely because she was always hunched over a workbench. Her deep brown hands and face were weathered, which Jac always assumed came from building and fixing machinery in the crop fields outside the city before sun sensors were widely available. Fayette was where she was born and worked as a young girl until her mid-thirties when she moved to the city. 

Alma didn’t talk about it much, but from the scattered bits she had shared, Jac knew that time in her life still haunted her. Jac knew, for example, she had had a daughter who died in a grain mill accident involving spotty AI. It was one of the reasons Jac thought Alma took to her so quickly, along with the fact that neither minded long stretches of silence. That and a pour or two of whiskey. When Jac wasn’t away on a job, they often sat for long stretches of time across from one another at Alma’s workbench, tinkering with gadgets and telling stories when it felt right. 

“No, you do it because you can’t help yourself. That, and you love it. But even that doesn’t explain your riches.”

Alma’s only response to this was to keep the mischievous smile on her face, so Jac continued. “I’d wager some of your ‘neighborhood clients’ have small, unauthorized modification requests and they’re willing to pay for your silence.”

Alma’s smile only grew as she took off her machine glasses and turned an affectionate gaze to Jac. “You jest, but you can’t hide your mood from me. I can tell when something’s off. What’s wrong?” she asked, crossing her arms and staring at Jac in a curious way that felt like her problems were the only thing in the world that mattered to Alma. Jac supposed this was what a mother’s love was supposed to feel like.

“Ah, that,” Jac sighed, suddenly feeling the need to inspect—very closely—the fusion charger Alma had been working on. Alma always knew how to bring down Jac’s facade. She also knew when to speak and when to wait. And now she was waiting. 

“I…someone took our genetic information,” Jac said, realizing in the moment just how much it was weighing on her. Alma looked concerned. “What you created with Colm?”

“Yes, and they want 500,000 colindos or they say they’ll destroy it,” Jac admitted. “But they were sloppy with their comms and I know where they are.”

“You worked so hard on that. I know what it means to you,” Alma said quietly.

“Meant,” corrected Jac. “What it meant to me. The whole project was supposed to be something Colm and I did together. A way to make things right after all the damage the Newgens have done. A way to start over and make a life for those of us who were…different.” 

“I’ve been saying for years you’re ready to pick it back up. And now someone has stolen it? How are we going to raise that coin?” Alma asked, more to herself as her gaze softened, indicating she’d started problem-solving. It was the same look she’d get when she was hyperfocused at her workbench. 

As endearing as it was to see Alma’s unprompted ownership of her problem, something was pulling at Jac. Something she hadn’t wanted to say out loud. “Alma, I was going to destroy it.”

Alma froze, but then just stared at her, so Jac continued, “You know the time off I had coming up?”

Alma nodded slowly and said, “You said you were going to see if Lin wanted to go up north for a bit. See if you could find some hallowed snow and relax for once.”

“I was going back home to destroy it.”

Alma continued to stare, searching Jac’s face, as the younger woman looked down at her hands, wringing them. “I just can’t do it without him. There are too many memories, too many bitter feelings. And you know I don’t know what to do with feelings…” Her words started coming faster and she could feel the uncomfortable build of emotions in her chest. “The whole reason he died was because his parents submitted him for remodification again! I can’t stop that from happening to others. I can’t fix what they’ve done. What they’ll continue to do.” Her cheeks were wet now and she was taking in deep, steadying breaths.

She almost squirmed as Alma laid her hands over Jac’s. She still had to remind herself that emotional expression, human touch: these were good things, accepted things. But a childhood of cold aloofness had her trained otherwise. Alma seemed to read her mind and retracted her hands, but the warmth remained. 

“I know you haven’t processed Colm’s death. I don’t blame you. No one gave you the tools to. But you can’t avoid it forever. It’s going to keep showing up in your life one way or another,” said Alma.

“But how? How do I even start?” pleaded Jac, looking directly at her.

“You go straight toward it. That feeling you push down every time you think of him? Don’t. Sit with it. Feel it. Let it rip through you for as long as it needs to. Because when it’s done, you can let it go. And live with who you are now.”

Jac let out a sigh, wiped her eyes and picked up a fly drone. She began turning it over in her hands. “I could just let them destroy it. I wouldn’t even need to sneak back home. And then it would all be done.”

“No, it wouldn’t, and you know it.” Alma got up to put the kettle on. When she came back she set four tin cups down, a bag of tea leaves and a bottle of corn whiskey. She poured the whiskey into two cups, then went to get the steaming kettle for the tea. 

“Alma, my ship’s busted from my last belt run, and you know Chanty won’t give me a loan. Not to me anyway. I’ll need a new ship or at least some time to work the ghostmarket to pay for repairs.”

“As a messenger?” Alma gawked as she released a hidden panel on her workbench. “That’ll take you weeks. Plus those jobs have gotten more dangerous. Here.” From the compartment she slid over two card deck-sized bars of iridium. Jac’s jaw fell open. “Alma, that has to be worth at least 50,000 colindos! I can’t take that from you—” she started, but Alma interrupted.

“I have at least a dozen more of these in this pod alone. You said it yourself, people pay for their secrets.” 

Jac was still sputtering when her link pinged. She opened a comm from the scammers thread. There were no words, just a timer displaying 48:00:00. And then it started to count down.