Epiphytes 1: Discovery and Escape

By Barry Pomeroy

Although it was originally an insult, the Epiphytes had embraced the term. They were each part of a hundred different ecosystems spread throughout the asteroid belt. Resources were running low and the many rocks had been claimed by miners and colonies, but it was their home.
Dara was only sixteen, but she’d wanted to escape Garonic as long as she could remember. People both Above and Below were merely counting time, and she didn’t want to scrape in the dirt like a miner, grow fresh like a farmer, or watch the distant stars like her astronomer mother.
Clinging like a limpet onto one of the asteroids, the dome colony was claustrophobic. Her mother hovered over her until she could barely breathe, and now she’d picked up some creep who claimed to be her father. Her friend Jurri—if she could be torn from the boy who’d captured her gaze—would join her. She was going to be a pioneer, like those ones on the vids about old Earth.
As soon as she heard about the new planet, Dara knew she had to get there first. She was going to lay claim to untold wealth, garner prestige throughout the belt, but most importantly, she would find a place she could dig into the rock and call her own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barry Pomeroy
• Release date: Jan 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781990314223

Barry Pomeroy

Barry Pomeroy is a Canadian novelist, short story writer, academic, essayist, travel writer, and editor. He is primarily interested in science fiction, speculative science fiction, dystopian and post-apocalyptic fiction, although he has also written travelogues, poetry, book-length academic treatments, and more literary novels. His other interests range from astrophysics to materials science, from child-rearing to construction, from cognitive therapy to paleoanthropology.

Book preview

Chapter One

Dara was on her way out. She felt like she’d seen what the colonies had to offer, and she was old enough to make her own plans. Sixteen was mature enough to pick a career, she’d complained often enough to her mother. Mature enough to follow a dream. She’d been born on Garonic, and although there were many who would never leave, both Above and Below, she was determined that she would not be one of them.

The dome clung like moss on the side of the asteroid, and although they’d been drilling for fifty years, they still hadn’t mined all its minerals. She’d been taught to memorize the names of the carbonaceous chondrites, the silicates and basaltic olivines, and the nickel-irons which made up most of the trade of the belt. In classes she’d scoffed that they called it mining, when a planet had been flayed into a million little pieces with each layer there for the picking, but as she grew to know more about the trade, she began to appreciate the vast distances and how difficult it was working in the Dark.

For many, a good job on Garonic was the way up. They imagined themselves running the Above and wasting resources on comfort. Dara had caught glimpses through the hatch of those whose mothers worked in administration. They knew enough to keep their secrets, but they also realized that the daughter of a scientist could only dream about their daily life.

Although it wasn’t a topic of discussion, and in fact it was rude to broach the topic, Garonic was an intensely stratified society. The admins wore purple like kings of old, and directly under them were the police and military in brown. Scientists like her astronomer mother were in white while the Reds were teachers. They weren’t as highly prized as the scientists. The Blues, those who handled transport and logistics, might have thought they were in control of Garonic, but most people associated them with mechanic orange. The miners in grey, who were responsible for the commercial enterprise which was the colony, were higher than the Greens. Everyone acknowledged that the farmers were necessary, but some of their workers were made up of people from Below. That alone would have relegated them to the lowest status, even if the colony prized the people who fed them.

Jurri’s mother ran the farm, and even if she could have worn purple, she wouldn’t have. She thought of herself as a Green, and worked alongside those from Below as well as people who espoused the views of Lifers. Their mystical views made no difference to her as long as they kept the crops growing and the colony fed.

There was nowhere to run in the colony, and Dara had a different goal. She would go so far and so fast that they wouldn’t be able to wrap her in anything. She picked at her yellow shirt. A student. Not forever.

When she saw Jurri in the corridor she bumped her with her shoulder. I’m leaving, she told her. Jurri would understand.

Jurri’s eyes flickered to the side, but no one was listening. People let the noise of conversation flow around them. It was too crowded to do anything else. Jurri saw her face, and sighed. Set up your own rock? That was the dream of the Epiphytes. The day you earned your own ship and claimed one of the tumbling asteroids as a home. But the belt was claimed out. Nothing left but boulders now. At least that’s what people said. Some hopefuls still wandered the blank spots of the Dark for the untold wealth a decent-sized asteroid could offer, but the chance of success was as remote as their distant ships.

Jurri couldn’t imagine where Dara would want to go. She’d known her since she was born, and realized that Dara was as persistent as a diamond drill hitting quartz. Dara thought her hair interfered with her work and she cut it off, and never grew it long again. Jurri couldn’t help but think that affected her chances.

"More than just digging. I mean I’m really going to get off this rock." Referring to the dome where you lived as a rock was at least rude, and some would call it treasonous. Dara was swinging her arms and getting angry looks. Everyone knew to keep their arms at their side, except maybe those from Below.

In-system? That was another dream, even more remote than setting up a claim. No one left the belt for the inner planets, although they’d both heard about the long-haul routes that took the ice miners from Venus and Mars and back out to Saturn and beyond.

They weaved through the crowd of workers and staff in the maze of tunnels and corridors which split the dome into hundreds of kilometres of hallways and shafts. Garonic was a recent colony, founded two generations before they were born, but it was already crowded. When they saw someone they knew they half-waved from the hip. No gestures wild enough to hit others, and most of the colonists were so socially sensitive that they picked up on anything from crinkled eyebrows to clear enunciation.

Jurri had also been fed the dreams of Earth and the inner planets; she’d heard the same call. But she also knew that no one who left their family would have any success. A chain is made of links, she reminded Dara as they entered the eating hall.

Dara paused at the wide hatch, looking over the crowd. The tables were on long conveyers, and they moved with glacial slowness to the wall where they were automatically cleaned. It limited the time anyone could spend, unless they wanted to shuffle along with the table or keep hauling on their bowl. Shuffling had become an expression for doing nothing, and Dara had used it herself. Nearly every table was taken.

Busy today. Jurri’s jaw muscles bunched as she imagined the meal, and despite her mood Dara almost laughed.

I know what you’re thinking. Not the inner planets either. It’s over for them. Population out of control and the Corps running the consortium? No thanks. And no ice mining.

There’s nothing else. Look, Jurri pointed with her chin. Small tables were a rarity. They walked quickly as they could without stumbling over casually inconvenient feet that reminded them to be civil.

Their trays almost didn’t fit the table. There’s lots. Dara sidled closer, as if they would be overheard above the gaggle of four hundred Epiphytes in the full throes of lunch. The staggered workday had been proposed, but had been universally panned. We only look as far as the Kuiper. But there are a lot more possibilities out there.

Even though there wasn’t extra room, a few students in yellow drifted by seeking their own seats. With only two chairs at their table and Dara’s hand curled into a fist, they knew enough not to interrupt. She watched them go, Tevery and Kitet, already talking about the space vids. They were Dara’s guilty pleasure too. More than once she’d stayed up too late trying to find out what happened with the alien tech on a distant planet, but she would never have admitted that to them.

You ever wonder if they talk about anything else? She pointed with her eyes.

Jurri laughed. They’re harmless. And we’ve all been there. Not into the space stuff myself, but I can see the attraction. Love in space and all. Jurri wasn’t shy talking about the vids she watched, in which plucky kids her age solved crimes and went on adventures. And fell in love. That was her main interest.

Like I said—Dara paused to glance at the diners near them—there are lots more options. And not just in the Kuiper.

That’s the big secret? The Oort? Jurri had heard the hype about the Oort cloud. Millions of rubble piles and spent comets on long-haul million-year drifts until they were flung around the sun. If they survived the trip in-system they would be relegated to the cold again, dirty snowballs twisting in wide ellipticals in the Dark. The thought made her shudder.

Promise to close the hatch?

Jurri mimed locking, her elbows at her side. She wouldn’t tell anyone.

I heard about a planet, Dara whispered although Jurri could barely hear her. The lunchtime crowd was filled with the high voices of Yellows their age, already working on projects and at practicums, and buzzing with the chance to prove their worth.

Jurri lowered her voice. The planet X thing again? Even if we ever find it, there’ll be nothing but a rubble pile. Or two bodies, messing up the orbital mechanics. You watch. You should know. Your mum’s working on it.

No one knew quite what Parata’s job description was, but she wore the white coat of the scientists and taught physics and worked as an astronomer. Jurri’s mother ran the farm. A Green. That was a profession someone could understand. Parata kept a whiteboard in their unit. Jurri had seen the calculations slowly change over time, although if they were meant to represent math, there never seemed to be a resolution.

Dara shook her head. Farther out. And bigger. She signed for quiet and Jurri glanced back at her tumbled pile of shredded vegetables. It’s getting cold, she complained loudly.

So what are you girls planning? Snave wasn’t liked, partly because he was the son of a Purple, but mostly because he couldn’t help but get into everyone’s business. His secrets were both prurient and addictive, and that also didn’t endear him to Dara or Jurri. His knowledge of private matters was largely thought to come from listening at the hatch of a counselor, and some said he’d ripped his stories straight from the dreams of the fearful. They claimed that his grey skin made it so he could blend against a painted wall, but Jurri always thought tormenting him was cruel. There was something wrong with him, but it wasn’t his small teeth and stooped shoulders.

Hating on the food, Dara said blandly. Then she looked toward the hatch as though someone important had arrived. The gesture was sensed rather than seen, for Snave was already turning, his small eyes like those of a rat looking for its next scrap. We were just saying that we could boost productivity on the farm by modifying the hydroponics. That with a little more carbon dioxide in the air and some nitrogen, we could fix the productivity problem.

Jurri said nothing. She knew more than Dara about growing food but she let her friend lead. She silently noted corrections in case Dara was interested once Snave drifted off.

God I hate him, Jurri said once Snave twisted between the tables and along the racks. Always where he’s least wanted. If it wasn’t for his mother . . . She watched him visit, watched as some heads turned away and others bent him down for a quick whisper. I’m not sure why anyone listens to him.

That’s why no one— Dara’s voice went flat. No one likes him.

Jurri looked for the source of the venom and saw the older man who kept following Dara. Who is he anyway? Get back to the shop?

Yep, Dara grabbed her bag and moved nearly as quickly as Snave.

Speaking of hate, Jurri gestured over her shoulder. You should report him.

I told Mum. Anyway, who the hell has a father? I mean, what kind of?

Jurri sympathized. She knew how she would feel if some sperm donor came sniffing around the progeny. It was a source of constant embarrassment for Dara but no one teased her about it. When a kid acts weird it’s one thing, but the actions of adults were a real embarrassment.

The family system was organized around mothers and Reds, the people who were willing to teach children. Some of them were men, but they never claimed to have a special attachment to those under their care. They kept to their job, helped with the kids, and never questioned where their sperm had ended up. Only perverts wanted to know.

Jurri saw Dara’s face darken so she tried to lighten it by asking, What were you saying? Earlier? About getting away?

Meet at the spring?

At Jurri’s nod Dara threw a glance over her shoulder for the lumbering idiot who kept bawling about being her father, and shuddered her way through the hatch. She was posted in the metals shop; that’s where she’d begun to think about an exit strategy.

Chapter Two

The shop was a large metal-working hall with multiple workstations. When she’d first arrived a few weeks earlier, it had looked like thudding chaos. Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing and she couldn’t see any pattern in the rushing to and fro. It was just like her shift on the farm, and then hospital, nursery, electrics, literature, history, physics, biology, and chemistry. She would catch on eventually but she was annoyed that she always lagged behind Torv. He was only a few months older than her, but that was mainly because she learned doggedly but resentfully. That prevented her from the awards that Torv had accumulated as though they were stickers.

He’d approached her on the first day, took her to a workstation and told her how to start. She’d seen him do it a dozen times since with the new kids. She’d thought it was his responsibility, but he’d actually only been there a few days before she arrived. Everything is easy for him, she’d thought resentfully, but she shoved the thought away when she looked at him again. Not everything.

What’s the plan today? Mitel was always smiling but Dara sensed he was lonely. He was a short man who always seemed about to tell a joke he knew they wouldn’t like. He tried to be a teacher, as if his red coat leant him an air of professionalism, but he mostly let the students steer their own learning. His smile was pasted on, as though something had gone missing and he’d given up the search.

Left out in the rain, Dara said.

What? That’s hardly our purview? Mitel still grinned, but his brow furrowed. He leaned on the desk and spread out his hands as though he’d never seen them before.

It’s a song. Song about things going wrong. I was thinking about welding. I haven’t got the puddle control down, not in zero g.

Good choice. I’ve seen your work, and it’s getting good. Almost as good as Torv’s.

Dara froze her face until he left. I have bigger plans. She spent the rest of the period working on water stock, welding pipe to endless pipe, perfecting her control over the flowing metal even while she varied the distance from the arc. Her bench was littered with blanks, and most of them had suffered under her torch already. She leaned into her work. The gas cloud was invisible, but as soon as the welding tip ventured too far from the molten metal it clouded over. She was learning how to read the clouds.

Funny, she thought. Thinking about clouds. Earth still has its hooks in us. She tried to parse the expression, and her hand wavered. The Skyhook? Maybe an expression from the early days of liftoffs. Or grapples, the only way to capture an asteroid other than a net.

You’re wandering. Torv was right on her shoulder.

What do you—? She pinched down her arc and tried to corral the metal back along the seam.

Not a pretty weld, but strong enough.

She saw it with Torv’s eyes. It was a scar on the smooth pipe. If you’re so smart— she handed him the torch and Torv said nothing as he shifted it smoothly to his other hand.

She blushed. Jerk. She’d forgotten. She watched Torv push the metal with close brushes, relying on the magnets to steer the weld back along the seam. It still left a smear but nothing that couldn’t easily be ground off with the wheel.

You’re really good at that. Dara was determined to make up for her mistake.

I’ve been practicing since I was little. Got a head start on you.

Torv’s modesty wasn’t false. He was top of the class in every subject, and she’d heard he was getting extra credit from electrics after hours. A scientist mother too. She would have hated him if it were possible. He was always willing to help others, and she’d even heard that he volunteered Below, teaching the kids who went to separate schools. She never asked him about it. She wasn’t even sure it was possible. That would take an extra kind of humble.

I was just thinking about something else. She pondered how to explain the torturous path her mind had taken. He’d been the best in literature too. He actually read for the joy of it, and he’d spent hours in the evening telling the stories to the kids who didn’t find reading as entertaining as his version. She’d listened before when passing the corridor where they’d found a spot along a bulkhead. Torv would do different voices for the characters; if she’d been younger she would have laughed aloud.

There’s always time to plan after you’ve done your shift. Torv handed her torch back to her and she reached for it with both hands, and then lifted it with one. Why do I keep doing that?

Dara’s eyes widened at the word plan. What does he know? If she were talking to Snave she would curl up like a worm, but with Torv, even if he knew what she wanted to do, she felt like he wouldn’t tell anyone. Like a work shift?

Why not? Torv straightened and stood a bit taller than her. We’re going to be in the workplace in less than a year. It’s time to think about what we want to do.

Already set. Might as well be drilled and dug. She turned off the torch and waved it to dissipate the fumes. As if I’m going to climb into a uniform and sell the rest of my life. Might as