Eyas stared. ‘His emergency contact, then.’
‘Nope.’
‘All GC records have them. It’s right there for you to fill out when you update your patch.’
‘Yeah, well, apparently he missed that bit. Didn’t think he’d need it, or something.’
How could you miss that bit? Eyas thought incredulously. How could you— She shook her head, ending the loop between scorn and pity. ‘There has to be someone.’
The patroller shifted in her chair. ‘I’m telling you, M, we tried. We tried to get on the local news feeds, we tried to get law enforcement to put out a notice or something. But they’re not Human, and they don’t get it. The way they see it, somebody with no family and no emergency contact is dead and has been identified, and their job is done. If he has friends, all we can do is hope they read Exodan news, because we don’t know who to—’
‘Are you saying,’ Eyas broke in, ‘that nobody’s coming for him?’
Patroller Boothe nodded. She cleared her throat again. ‘We might hear from someone. I don’t know. I can’t predict that. Could be tomorrow, could be next standard. But I also know that the, um . . . the stasies you guys use here aren’t built for long-term storage. So you might . . .’ She trailed off.
Eyas understood. ‘I might want to take care of it sooner rather than later.’
‘Yeah.’
The room fell quiet. Nobody was coming for him. Nobody was coming for him, and there was nothing more to say.
Kip
Feed source: The Thread – The Official News Source of the Exodan Fleet (Public/Klip)
Item name/date: Evening News Summary - Galactic - 130/306
Encryption: 0
Translation path: 0
Transcription: [vid:text]
Node identifier: 8846-567-11, Kristofer Madaki
Hello, and welcome to our evening update. I’m Quinn Stephens. We begin tonight’s headline summary with news from the Fleet.
The investigation into the body discovered aboard the Asteria last tenday is still unfolding. Five suspects have been apprehended and detained in connection with the untimely death of Sawyer Gursky, a Central space immigrant who recently took up residency in the Fleet. The crew of the Silver Lining, a registered Exodan cargo ship captained by Muriel Saarinen, are believed to have hired Gursky to assist with looting aboard the Oxomoco. Large stores of stolen and illegally obtained goods were found aboard the Silver Lining, in addition to drugs and small weapons. All five crew members have been charged with theft, smuggling, illegal salvage, possession of firearms, and unlicensed possession of a pinhole drive. No murder charges have been reported yet. Jannae Green, a member of the traffic control guild, has been arrested as well. Green allegedly accepted credits from the thieves in exchange for disabling the Oxomoco’s proximity alert system for several hours while salvaging took place.
The supervisory council for the Fleet Safety Patrol reminds all citizens that illegal salvage is a serious crime, and is punishable by imprisonment. Patrol also encourages any persons aware of such activity to make an anonymous report, and wants to remind the public that without such a report having been filed, today’s arrests would not have been made so quickly.
There was a buzz at the door. Kip put his scrib down and raised his head up from the pillow. ‘Yeah?’
The door spun open. His dad entered, wearing a dorky smile and carrying a shopping bag. ‘Know what time it is?’
Kip shook his head. Shit, was he supposed to be somewhere?
‘Almost three. You blazed right through lunch, buddy.’ He lifted the bag. ‘Hungry?’
A tantalising, familiar smell drifted its way to Kip’s nose. He sat up. ‘Yeah.’
The dorky smile intensified, and his dad produced the bag’s contents: a wrapped-up hopper and a frosty bottle of choko. He tossed both to Kip, one at a time.
Kip turned the warm bundle over after he caught it. The order was quick-printed on the cloth. 2x pickle. Fried onion. Extra hot sauce. No greens. Toasted bun. ‘How’d you know?’
‘M Rajan knows your order, apparently.’ His dad shook his head. ‘I weep for your stomach lining.’
Kip managed a small smile. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
The meal had been exchanged, and Kip was grateful, really, but his dad just stood there awkwardly, hands in his pockets, bag hanging around his wrist. ‘So . . . tailoring didn’t work out, huh?’
Kip rubbed his face. Stars, but he did not want to talk about job trials. ‘Please don’t lecture me.’
‘No lectures,’ Dad said, holding up his hands. ‘Just . . . curious as to what you’re up to.’ He paused. ‘Any fun plans today?’
‘No.’
‘Nothing with Ras?’
Kip looked away. ‘No.’ He didn’t want to hang out with Ras. Ras had been pissed at first that Kip talked to patrol, but once time went by and no trouble came with it, Ras started straight-up bragging. Everybody at school was talking about the body, and Ras was telling them, yeah, he’d overheard the scavengers who did it, they were a buncha mean motherfuckers, you should’ve heard the way they laughed about killing that dude. Kip hadn’t talked to Ras since he heard him doing that, and he hadn’t responded to any of his scrib messages, either. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Okay.’ Dad nodded like he understood. Kip didn’t know if he actually did or not. ‘You know that if you ever do want to talk – about Ras, or work, or . . . or . . . you know your mom and I are here, right?’
Kip picked at the hopper wrapper. Dad going to Grub Grub was nice and all – like, really nice – and he knew Dad wanted him to talk. But Kip wanted to be alone. Alone was easier. Alone was safe. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he was feeling. The wanting was still there, but it was different now. It wasn’t him and Ras wanting more together. It was just Kip, wanting alone. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’
His dad nodded. He seemed disappointed, but he didn’t push. ‘I’ll be in the hex if you need anything,’ he said. He started to leave, then turned back. ‘You know, might feel good to get out for a while. I can give you some extra trade. Y’know, if you want to go play a sim or pick up some vid chips or something. I heard there’s a new vid out with – oh, what’s his name, that Martian actor you like – Jacob something.’
Kip rolled his eyes. ‘Jasper Jacobs,’ he mumbled.
‘That’s right,’ Dad said. ‘He’s not my type, but I get it, I really do. He’s got those . . . those big arms, and—’
Kip’s chest began to cave in on itself. Stars, of all the things he didn’t feel like talking with his dad about, Jasper Jacobs’ arms were in the top three.
Dad cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, let me know if you want to do something fun.’
Kip squinted. ‘I spent all my tenday trade already.’
‘I know.’
His suspicion grew. ‘Mom doesn’t let me have more after that.’
Dad winked. ‘Mom doesn’t have to know.’ He gave a half-wave. ‘In the hex. Just holler.’ The door slid shut behind him.
Kip sat cross-legged on his bed, gifted lunch in his lap, guilt gnawing at his empty gut. Dad was trying to be his friend, and he knew that. He sighed, unwrapped the hopper, and tucked in. ‘Mmmmph.’ The moan was reflexive. He was hungry. He tore into the meal like somebody was going to take it away. M Rajan had made it perfect, like always. The fried grasshopper meal was satisfyingly crunchy, the twice-round pickle felt like a salty, sour hug, and the hot sauce skirted that line between ow, this hurts, please stop and I want to eat this forever. He swore she put more hot sauce on each time, like she was training him or something.