“If none of it works,” she said, “why’s it here?”
“Because the people who smuggled it hoped it would work.”
“Smuggled?”
“What comes here has to come down.”
“How did they smuggle it?”
“Inside some convenient personal orifice.”
“Inside?”
“It doesn’t have to be a natural orifice. Artificial apertures can be made to measure.”
“No one could have brought any of that inside them. It’s far too big.”
“Depends which planet they’re from,” said the man. “Sometimes new guests bribe the space crew to send down their excess baggage. To prevent that happening, there’s only one gravpak for each arrival. Often the equipment lands safely, but its proud owner doesn’t. Life as a spacer is very dull, and making the switch gives them some amusement.”
“It’s all been dumped because it’s damaged?”
“Even the undamaged stuff doesn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’ve been liberated from the technological tyranny which enslaves every other world. You’ve reached a cultural and harmonious oasis within a savage universe, son, where every inhabitant is a free spirit, and we spend all of our time discussing philosophy or painting the spectacular landscapes with which we’re blessed or composing verses to celebrate our good fortune or creating symphonies and operas in honour of this magnificent planet, pausing only to reach out to pick the succulent fruits of nature’s bounty, which are our nourishment. On this idyllic world, we may have little—but we want for nothing.”
While she waited for the old fool to stop, Kiru glanced around. All she could see was the old man, his piles of technojunk, and the endless trees which surrounded them.
“If none of it works,” she said, “why do you keep it?”
“I’m a collector. A man has to have a hobby. What else am I going to do with my time?”
“Paint,” she suggested. “You could paint all that junk, make it look like new, then write a song about it.”
The old man smiled.
“What are you here for, son?”
“Five years.”
“You mean life.”
“No. Five years.”
“Life. No one ever goes back.”
“But…” Kiru shook her head. “You mean…?”
“Yes. Once you’re here, you stay here. But it doesn’t make any difference because you’ll probably be dead long before five years are up. It’s tough here. That’s the idea. Very few survive. I asked what you were here for. Murder?”
“No!”
“What’s wrong with murder? That’s why I’m here, although it was self-defence on each of the twenty-three counts. Arson?”
“No!”
“Some of my best friends are arsonists. If you survive until winter, you’ll be glad of anyone who can light a fire. Abduction?”
“No!”
“Abduction gets people out of the house, gives them a change of scenery. Lese-majesty?”
“What?”
“What’s wrong with lese-majesty, you say? Exactly my own sentiments. I wasn’t given a fair trial.”
“I wasn’t given a trial,” said Kiru.
“That’s Earth for you, son. It was better in the old days, when they could afford such luxuries as trials, before the Crash.”
Kiru’s mother used to say the world had been different before the Crash, which Kiru always imagined was the sound of her father going through the window. The Crash had affected not only him, but everyone on Earth. A dramatic economic slump had made the rich poor and the poor very poor. Although Kiru’s father was rich, he never became poor. He became dead.
He hadn’t been killed by a red demon; he’d killed himself.
All he left behind were his debts. Debts which, because of interest charges and inflation guarantees, increased every day, every year. Debts which could never be repaid—but which his family had to keep on paying, every day, every year.
So when her mother died, Kiru owed a lot of money. And her children would owe even more. Not that she ever planned to have any. Life was hard enough without paying off an infinite debt. Not that she ever planned to.
Which was why she was here now.
If she’d had a trial, she’d have had to pay the cost—whatever the verdict. Just like they’d added the cost of the space voyage to her list of debts.
“What heinous crime did you commit?” asked the man.
“Terrorism,” said Kiru.
“That’s nice.”
“Sabotage. Counterfeiting. Spitting without a license.”
“What did you really do?”
“I opened a door.”
“What door?”
“I was looking for somewhere to sleep, something to eat.”
“What door?”
Kiru shrugged.
“What door?”
“A police base.”
“You broke out of a police base?”
“No. The opposite.”
“You broke into a police base?”
Kiru nodded.
“Looking for food and shelter?”
She nodded again.
“How appropriate. Because that’s exactly what you’ll be looking for here.” The man laughed. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages.”
Stupid old fool, thought Kiru.
“You could at least smile,” he said.
But Kiru couldn’t smile; she’d never learned how.
“Earth only resumed exporting convicts recently,” the man continued. “Couldn’t afford it. You said you had no trial?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“They’re making up for lost time; they’ve got quotas to fill. There must have been an empty berth when you happened to be around. Someone up there hates you.”
That was nothing new. Everyone hated her.
“What did you smuggle down?” he asked.
She’d had nothing on Earth, she had nothing here, and she said, “Nothing.”
“You’ve nothing to give me?”
“You want me to give you something?”
“Yes.”
“Why should I?”
“Because of this.”
The old man pointed a gun at her.
“You said nothing works here,” said Kiru.
“Never believe what anyone says,” he said. “I told you that.”
“I didn’t believe you.”
Kiru looked at the gun, which seemed to have been built from salvaged junk. Unless she was very unlucky, she could probably dodge any primitive projectile—but she was always very unlucky.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Because it’s my job. I’m a thief. I rob people. It’s nothing personal. That’s why I’m not going to kill you. Unless I have to. It’s your choice. Give me what you’ve got. Or I’ll kill you and take it.”
“All I have is this,” she said, offering her survival rations.
“Your starter pack. I’ll take it. And your clothes.”
Kiru peeled down to her skinsuit.
“Everything.”
She stripped naked.
“Welcome to Clink, son.”
He wasn’t just a stupid old fool, he was a blind stupid old fool. She should have tried to run when she had the chance.
“Thanks,” she said.
Clink. Real name: Arazon—the prison planet.
“Off you go,” said the old man, gesturing for her to leave.
“Which way?” she asked. They were surrounded by woodland in every direction. “It all looks the same.”
“It is.”
Kiru turned about-face, then began walking away.
“Take care,” said the man.
For a while, just for a very brief while, Kiru had begun to think that maybe, just maybe, things might be better here. She’d expected to die, but she was still alive.