Compared to the brightness and bluster of the rest of the plaza, the job office was a rather humble spot. Still, it was welcoming in its own way. There were benches outside where people could skim through listings on their scribs, and calming plants in neat boxes, and pixel posters cheering the reader on. Need a change? We can help!, read one, the letters glowing above a loop of a relieved-looking man setting aside a vegetable-gathering basket and picking up a stack of fabric instead. Another poster featured a teenage girl standing in a semblance of a hex corridor, surveying doors printed with various symbols – a leaping fish, a magnified imubot, a musical instrument, a shuttle in flight. You never know where a job trial will take you, the pixels read.
Sawyer took a seat on the bench beside the girl with four lives ahead of her. He’d just left the office, and done what the compost woman had suggested. Going back in armed with advice had put a spring in his step. Coming back out . . . he wasn’t sure what he felt. He hadn’t talked to the same clerk as before, so he’d missed out on the satisfaction of returning to say aha, look, I have passed your test! Learning that there was an expected order of vocational initiation had felt significant to Sawyer. The clerk hadn’t conveyed the same, but why should he? What was significant about filling out the same formwork he probably filled out dozens of times a day? What had Sawyer expected? A knowing nod? An approving smile?
That’s exactly what he’d wanted, he knew, and he felt stupid about it. But then again, he’d been given no next step, no direction beyond ‘thank you, we’ll contact you when a shift becomes available.’ When would that be? Tomorrow? A tenday? More? In principle, Sawyer didn’t mind downtime, especially when he didn’t have to worry about food or a roof, but the idea of rattling around that big empty home until some nebulous point in the future arrived didn’t sit well.
He set his jaw. Getting down about everything he didn’t know yet wouldn’t do any good. Maybe he could try making inroads with his hex neighbours again. Maybe they’d be more than distantly polite if they knew he was going to clean up the same messes everybody else did. Maybe he’d go out there at dinnertime today instead of going to a cafe or hiding out insecurely in his room. He’d never really cooked before, but he could chop stuff, at least. He could help. He could—
‘Working up some courage?’ a friendly voice said.
Sawyer found the speaker: a stocky man with an infectious smile and a mech arm. Such implants were common among Humans back home, but Sawyer hadn’t seen many in the Fleet. ‘I’ve already been in,’ he said.
‘Needing some comfort, then, judging by your face.’ The man raised up a canteen, signalling the intent to share. ‘Want some in liquid form?’
Sawyer smiled and put up his hands. ‘I better not,’ he said. ‘I’m kind of a lightweight.’
‘Then you’ve got nothin’ to fear here,’ the man said. He waggled the canteen. ‘Just tea. Lil’ sugar boost, that’s all.’
Sawyer’s smile grew, and he nodded. ‘All right,’ he said, joining the man. ‘That’s very kind.’
‘I’ve been in your shoes,’ the man said. He filled the canteen lid and handed it over. ‘Not a comfy thing, having idle hands, huh?’
‘No,’ Sawyer said, nodding in thanks as he took a sip of tea. Stars, but this guy wasn’t kidding about the sugar. He could already feel it clinging fuzzily to his teeth.
The man stuck out his hand. ‘I’m Oates,’ he said.
Sawyer returned the handshake, a kick of happy adrenaline coursing through him. ‘Sawyer,’ he said.
‘And where are you from, Sawyer?’ He pointed toward Sawyer’s mouth. ‘We don’t grow Rs like those in the Fleet.’
Sawyer laughed. ‘Mushtullo.’
‘Long way from home.’ Oates pulled a redreed pipe and a tiny bag out of his jacket pocket. Sawyer knew what was coming next: ‘You got family here?’
‘Nah.’ He had the reply down pat by now. ‘Just trying something new.’
Oates nodded as he filled his pipe – redreed in the hand he’d been born with, bowl in the one he’d chosen. ‘Good for you.’ He hit his sparker and took one puff, two puffs, three. The smoke rose steady. ‘You been here long?’
‘Two tendays.’
‘How’s it treating you so far?’
‘Great,’ Sawyer said, a little too fast, a little too loud. ‘Yeah, it’s . . . it’s been great.’
Oates eyed him through the pipe smoke. ‘Bit different than home, huh?’
Sawyer took another sip of the sickeningly sweet tea. ‘Still finding my footing, I guess. But that’s normal, right?’
‘I’d say so,’ Oates said. He offered his pipe; Sawyer declined. ‘So what kind of work did they hook you up with?’
‘I put my name in for sanitation.’ Sawyer tried to look casual as he said it, but he was keen to see how that answer was received.
Oates did not disappoint. ‘Sanitation,’ he said with a favourable look. ‘A time-honoured gig.’ He took a long drag and let the smoke curl slowly from his nose. ‘That’s good of you. But tell me honestly, now that we’re tea buddies and all – that’s not really what you want to be doing, right?’
‘Well . . .’ Sawyer laughed. ‘Does anybody?’
Oates chuckled. ‘No. That’s why the good ol’ shit lottery exists in the first place. What kind of jobs did you do back on Mushtullo?’
‘Lots of stuff – uh, let’s see . . . I’ve worked at a cafe, a fuel depot, a stasie factory—’
‘So, you can lift stuff and follow directions and be nice to people. Good, good. What else?’
‘I can write code.’
‘No kidding.’ Oates looked interested. ‘What kind of code?’
‘I’m not a comp tech or anything. I didn’t go to school for it. But I can write Siksek and Tinker, and—’
‘Tinker, huh?’ Oates rolled his pipe between his metal fingers. ‘What level?’
‘Four.’
Oates studied Sawyer. ‘Listen, I know we’ve known each other for all of three minutes, but I can tell you’re a good dude. If you really want to start with the sewers, I won’t bother you further. But if you’re interested in something more . . . dynamic, I’m on a salvage crew, and we’re looking for some extra hands. Specifically, someone who knows Tinker. I’ve stopped a few others today, and you’re the first I’ve chatted with who’s got that skill.’
Sawyer had started to take another sip of tea, but the cup froze halfway there.
‘Now, lifting shit and following directions is the main part of the job,’ Oates went on. ‘But we use Tinker more often than not. You know how it is with busted tech – sometimes you can’t get a panel to work or a door to open, and it’s always faster when we’ve got people who can just get in there and force code the thing. That sound like something you could handle?’
‘Yeah, definitely,’ Sawyer said, loud and fast again. ‘I’ve never done it before, but—’
‘If you’re level four, it’ll be cake.’ Oates folded his lips together and nodded. ‘All right, well, if you’re interested, come meet me tonight at shuttledock twelve, after twenty-half. I’ll take you to meet my boss.’
Sawyer’s heart was in his throat. This was it. A friend. A crew. Holy shit, the compost woman had been right! Five minutes out of the job office, and just putting his name on that list had changed things. ‘I mean—’ Sawyer stammered, ‘that would be awesome. I can just go find the listing, if that’s easier, I don’t want to take up any more of your time—’
‘Not at all,’ Oates said. ‘Besides, my boss doesn’t use listings. Personal recommendations only. She’s a face-to-face kind of person.’ Smoke escaped from between his smiling teeth. ‘Great judge of character.’