Space Farming
A Science Fiction One Shot
Thanks go to once again for providing the prompt “A character who is a stowaway” in his weekly Flash Fiction Friday post.
Neave had wanted to travel the stars since she could remember. Every night she would stare up at the sky naming all the ones she knew, adding a couple each time. She had memorised the constellations of not just home but of far flung planets like Cupril, Taravego, and Senesta. By day, when only her own star was visible in the sky, she would read and watch reels on the fascinating worlds that were beyond her grasp. Ocean worlds where sentient sea creatures built underwater paradises, low-g moon home to the Rotatan, thin creatures of tendrils that lacked bones, and hollow planets where the cities where on the underside of the crust, the core of the planet the primary source of light suspended in the centre.
Neave had wanted to see them all.
Instead she lived on Plesagus, a failed colony. Not failed in terms of people, there were plenty of people, but failed in terms of what they set out to do. Plesagus was thought to be rich in minerals, especially the various ones used for starship fuel, but someone, somewhere, in the bureaucratic nightmare maze of The Colonisation Guild had made an error. Plesagus had no such bounty. Pagalus had and that was two hundred light years away to the galactic east. Before the error was found tens of thousands of people had spent their life savings, acquired permits, purchased tickets, and leased equipment. Before the error was publicised almost a million people had settled on Plesagus, a world rich in chalk. Though nobody could get rich from chalk. There was demand but it was cheap and getting cheaper, the galaxy was full of chalk.
And so Neave lived on a world famed for growing just enough food to feed itself and the spectacular chalk mines and formations that dotted the landscape, great mushroom shaped rocks, huge cliff sides of pure white, entire mountains looking permanently coated in icing. Occasionally something else was found, usually flint and other worthless stones, but sometimes, sometimes, there was a mineral or gas pocket worth something. And that's when ships arrived.
When a planet has nothing to export and no major attractions the starships stop visiting. Interstellar travel might as well cease to exist. Neave watched the almost monthly chalk shipments and the small batch of once or less a year seasonal tourists looking for a cheap getaway from the busy ecumenopolises. But there was never a spare seat, never an unsold ticket, ships didn't fly with space to spare, fuel was too expensive, air was too expensive in space. A starliner would charge for the air, for the space, and they'd have charged you for the gravity if they could but that was outlawed when starship engines started being designed to generate gravity as part of their standard operation. Gravity was free, how generous.
Neave had been going about her usual day working on her parents fish farm, they specialised in Earth sea varieties, cod, haddock, plaice, sole, and a small amount of yellow and blue fin tuna. The year before she'd tried going into prawns but the demand wasn't there, though she kept a small tank for the family. At around mid-afternoon the star-yacht appeared in the skies over Plesagus, a glistening red slip of a ship, all sleek lines and curves, not a corner or angle on her, far different from the usual cargo vessels and bargain cruise liners, all gunmetal grey and angular save for a company logo or two. She turned on the audio news bulletin, a rolling score of mostly boring events read by equally bored reporters. There was nothing about the red yacht gliding in the atmosphere but not landing, so she watched and watched and watched all afternoon until the sun set and bathed the world in deep umber and purple. Then she watched some more as the stars came out and the red yacht illuminated herself with a trim of light horizontally around her hull.
The news reached the waves in the middle of the evening, once details could be confirmed and the important ones omitted. Some rare mineral had been discovered and whoever was in the star-yacht was the most keen buyer, having travelled to Plesagus while every other contender used the intergalactic communications service. Clearly he or she up there floating over that world of chalk thought face-to-face was the way to go, only they had yet to land and, apparently, there was trouble with who even owned the rights to the minerals in the first place as the caverns stretched underneath multiple areas of farmland and existing mines. The vein must have been enormous. The Phoenix constellation was in full, an auspicious sign.
Neave began to pack up and head back to the house when the news reporter became excited. The yacht was moving. Neave dropped her back and looked up, sure enough the ship was heading down to the surface, towards her.
'The vessel, Star Drifter, is approaching a landing spot near to Yval's Tear. It is unclear why,' the audio crackled through the torn speaker.
Yval's Tear was only a few kilometres from Neave's family farm, which meant the vein must have been close, or stretched close enough, perhaps even underneath into their property which meant... Neave raced home.
Her parents were out on the porch staring at the sky, her five siblings with them, all looking up for once. The crimson yacht sailed overhead, the luxury cruiser casting a shadow larger than their entire thousand acre farm. A terrible stomach-deep rumbling emanated from the monstrous star cruiser that made Neave's teeth rattle and deafened them all.
'What's it out here for?' her dad asked, shouting but coming across as barely a whisper.
'Didn't you listen to the audio broadcast? Expensive minerals have been found near Yval's Tear and whoever owns that,' Neave pointed up, 'wants first dibs.'
'Yval's Tear? That's just up the road. Will he be wanting to speak with us?' her dad said.
Neave shrugged.
'I'm sure someone will come to us if needs be,' Neave's mum said, placing a hand on her husband's shoulder.
Neave went to bed dreaming of living on the Star Drifter. Sailing from star to star, visiting any planet she wanted, whenever she wanted, it was all she had wanted and a ship had came to her. She resolved herself to find a way aboard.
She woke before dawn and left her family a note on the kitchen table. They'd understand, she was sure of it. With a satchel of food, water, and spare clothes she set out to find the Star Drifter, the ship was not difficult to find.
Neave crouched in the long grass-not-yet-wheat and stared, slack jawed, at the ship. She had thought freighters were large but they carried tens of thousands of tonnes of stuff, this star-yacht was for pleasure but looked like it could house five hundred people plus their stuff and have space left over, maybe the owner lived on her.
The gargantuan star-yacht had landed in a field of a neighbouring farm, dwarfing the outhouses, barns, and farmhouse that were clustered under her shadow like a family of terrified rabbits when a fox appears at their burrow entrance. The loading ramp was down but a dozen people milled about, smoking, chatting, and some were working. On what Neave had no idea but they were doing something with an open panel on the hull. There was a another ramp, nearer the front, down as well but that had two bulky men in black suits beside it and she figured they were bodyguards or something so she kept looking. The sleek underside of the Star Drifter bore no blemishes, no discoloured panels, no carbon scoring, none of the emblems bore by the starships she was used to seeing. As she was admiring the yacht she was going to steal away too another world on she spotted a small open panel near a set of rear landing gear. There was no one near it. Neave knew that within ships were all sorts of crawlspaces and vents to allow all the complicated gubbins through and people to fix it when it went wrong, if she got into one of those then she could get anywhere in the ship and evade discovery till they landed on some beautiful world.
Neave dashed for the opening, the long grass-not-yet-wheat brushing past her like angry flies. There was a strip where she would be exposed, where the grass had been shorn for, or flattened by, the Star Drifter. She sprinted full pelt out of the grass, glancing left to the workers at the rear, then right to the bodyguards. Neither were looking her way and her heart thudded with excitement. The panel was smaller than she thought but it led into a service duct, she threw her satchel onto a platform and then pulled herself up. The metal made a hollow bang as she scrambled up into the ship. Once inside she waited and listened. No one came. Her heart calmed and the blood drained from her ears, she began to crawl deeper into the bowels of the star-yacht, wondering where to stop. There was a ladder to another deck and then the crawlspace split into five, all worming away from her, low blue lighting glimmered softly throughout.
She chose at random and found herself, after at least ten minutes of crouched walking, at what appeared to be a hatch. There was a wheel on it and it turned easily enough though it took a lot of turning until it opened and a thirty centimetre thick door opened out into a room that would have made a decent bedroom but was a storage cupboard for odd bits of broken technology and tools. She shut the hatch, making sure to spin the wheel as tight as she could, and hunkered down. All she had to was wait for the ship to leave and make sure no body found her.
Hours went by and Neave, bored, had napped a few times so wasn't sure how long had passed but it was definitely hours and not a day, not quite yet. Her family would have probably read the note and be thinking of ways to stop her but if she was found on the Star Drifter she could be charged with trespassing or stowing away. Her parents wouldn't want that and so they wouldn't go direct to the ship's owner, that gave her time. Time to wait for said owner to return and –
The ship rumbled. Deep mechanical sounds echoed behind the locked and sealed hatch and an alarm rang out throughout the ship, including in her storage room. There was a brief feeling of weightlessness and then a faint hum.
The Star Drifter had taken off.
Neave's heart pounded against her ribs and she felt fear, fear at accomplishing her goal, fear at doing what she wanted. Her tongue was dry and she had a sudden, and brief, pang of regret. She decided the fear was excitement and the regret was homesickness then looked in her satchel for something to eat.
A door opened. Two men walked in, both bulky and in black suits, and one said, 'You're coming with us.'
Neave did not have the chance to decline.
The lighting was harsh in the owner's quarters. Odd alien sculptures stood on pedestals while ancient works of Earthen art hung on the walls. Room dividers of painted wood broke up the space into three distinct zones, the one she was in had a desk and a row of bookcases with brass chandeliers hanging form the ceiling. There was pair of sofas and three armchairs to one end. Two black suited guards stood beside her, one holding her satchel. Another two were by the main door, a distance that might has well have been the breadth of her family farm for all the chance she'd have to getaway. Where would she go, she was in orbit above Plesagus.
'A stowaway?' a smooth male voice echoed off the steel bulkheads. 'Have we ever had a stowaway?'
'No, sir,' a frantic woman said. 'We don't know how it happened and has we were already in the air we thought it best you decide what to do.'
The man made a sound of agreement but said nothing.
He appeared round the room divider showing a peacock displaying its tail, and smiled at Neave, a young woman accompanied him holding a folder and a stack of slate computers. 'I'm Perigrin Fester,' he had a streak of white through his close cropped hair and wore a short beard peppered with grey. His suit was slimming and bore little decoration save for a metallic badge on his lapel. Neave couldn't make out what it was. 'And who are you?' he sat down at his desk.
'Neave,' she said quietly, suddenly feeling foolish.
'And why are you one my ship?'
'I wanted to see the stars and visit other planets. Plesagus is the back alley of nowhere and I spend all my time looking up at the stars.'
'The Star Drifter is not a leisure transport. You will be returned to the surface and I suggest you book a ticket for a ship next time. Stowing away is a crime, a serious one. Take her away, feed her but do not let her wander.'
'Wait! I can work. You need staff to run a ship this impressive, right?' Neave reached out with one hand as if she could grab her dream and make it real.
Perigrin Fester steepled his hands, elbows on the desk, and smiled, 'And what is it you do?'
'I'm a farmer.'
Perigrin laughed. The guards laughed. Even the nervous wreck of a woman that was his assistant laughed. 'If you hadn't noticed, this is a starship. No soil here.'
'My parents farm the soil, I farm fish.'
That elicited another laugh and Perigrin waved for his bodyguards to take her away. The one without her bag took her gently by the arm and guided her towards the door while the assistant presented a tablet to Perigrin.
'I farm fish in vats. They are sealed units, can be set up anywhere,' she was shouting now. The doors hissed open, ready to doom her forever. 'Cod, haddock, prawns, plaice, octopus if it takes your fancy!'
'Hold,' Perigrin peered up from the slate. 'Prawns?'
'Yes. Prawns. Shrimp. Whatever you call them,' she rambled. 'Could grow mussels too, or clams, oysters, really anything you want with the right environment and feed.'
Perigrin Fester turned to his assistant, 'Do you know how much prawns cost?'
'No, sir,' her eyes were wide and her mouth continued to move after she'd spoken.
'More than you make in a week. More than I am willing to spend,' he leaned forward on the desk. 'You could farm prawns on my ship?'
Neave nodded, too scared to speak in case she made nothing but a squeak.
Perigrin Fester leaned back in his leather chair, 'I have a job for you, Neave,' he smiled and beckoned her forward to discuss terms.
Neave freed herself from her doom and took a step towards a brighter future.
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Only the bold can succeed, as the saying goes.