Shoshone Station: The Galactic Consortium season 2

Episode Six: Africa #5

Jake spent the night on a workers court on the same level as the Economics Office. The area catered to the many workers who had come up from the surface to serve in the hotels and the shops on the bottom court. As a result, it was very American and a large percentage of the people he saw were his age.

The orbital hopper that took him to Bamako was only half filled. Three US soldiers and one civilian sat across from him; they were headed to a diplomatic post in North Africa. A couple of tourists were on their way for vacation. The rest of the flight was a mix of American and Consortium individuals, and Jake could only guess their purposes. Perhaps a couple of the young people were headed for the same African Administration that he was.

But it was when he arrived at Bamako Station that he felt for the first time like he'd entered a whole new world. As soon as he stepped out of the spaceport, he was surrounded by people, mostly African people with dark skin. This station was crowded, far more than Shoshone. Every open court overflowed with people. The press of bodies, the smell of unwashed flesh, and the sounds of languages he didn't know followed him down the halls toward the main lift to the surface.

And most of the people appeared to be Muslims. At least it seemed that way with the woman, who had their heads covered. Jake's knowledge of the Muslim world was confined to this one fact. Before the Consortium had arrived, Middle Eastern terrorists dominated the news. That had changed, in part because the Consortium itself overshadowed all other news. But also because the Consortium Expeditionary Forces, the military branch of the very African Administration that he was now heading for, had joined the fight. With sophisticated scanner technology, they could spot and track explosives before the bombers had a chance to deploy them. Individuals could be tracked easily.

Jake was overwhelmed and intimidated by the crowds of strange people. Luckily the lift came soon after his arrival and was nearly empty as it dropped toward the surface.

Wyoming in winter was cold and dry. Bamako was hot and dry. The heat struck him in waves from the door of the ground station as it opened and closed for newcomers. Here on the surface was a large crowd waiting to go up. How many people can fit on a station? These people seemed bound and determined to test the limit.

He pushed his way through the crowd toward an office to one side. A marquee above the door flashed in multiple languages, announcing "African Administration Civil Service Office." He introduced himself to a man in a blue Consortium civil-service uniform.

"Training camp?" the man asked. He gave a nod. "They're out on the south side of town. We've a tram running shortly."

Jake followed the man's directions to one edge of the parking lot apart from the rest of the crowd. Looking out of the gate, it seemed that this station was more or less in the center of town. Much of the traffic in and out was on foot, though there was a parking lot and a larger truck entrance on the far side.

He was joined by a short Hanuman man. He looked to be young. "Wow. It's hot. Is it always is hot down here?" the man asked.

"It's not near this hot where I'm from," Jake said. "Suppose I'll get used to it." He wiped the sweat on his brow.

The Hanuman introduced himself with a name that sounded like "chatty," but Jake later learned was actually Chatura. Chatty suited him quite well. He introduced himself as being from Shin and said this was his first time on the surface of the planet. He asked what Jake's name was and where he was from. Then he asked if Jake was planning on being part of the big administration as well and what his future job would be.

When Chatura finally paused to take a breath, Jake replied, "I'm Jake. From America. Yeah, I'm going to drive a truck, I guess. You?"

Chatura was nodding excitedly. "That's what I want to do too. One of the big ones. All we got back home are little open-air transports. But when I was a kid, I had this toy truck. I've seen pictures and stuff. Thought it would be fun. A little scary too. I mean those things are so big you could crush somebody and not even know it."

Several other people had joined them from the ground station and a couple dozen more from the city outside before the tram arrived. They boarded, and Jake sat by the window with his new chatty friend next to him. He watched the city go by, soaking in the new sights, sounds, and smells. He leaned back in his seat and half-listened to what the Hanuman was saying.

They crossed a large river and drove past the outskirts of town before coming to a huge encampment. At the front of the encampment was a small village of dome houses, like Jake had seen on TV. They were quick to erect, coming in prefab segments, and the Consortium had them by the millions for emergency shelters. Jake had seen a giant refugee camp that had been transformed into a city of these houses on the news.

But that was not apparently where Jake had been sent. Beyond the small village were semicircular bunkers and more traditional rectangular buildings. The tram let them off in front of one of the bunkers, and they were greeted by an elderly Neanderthal man, who managed to make the rest of their orientation seem like the beginning of boot camp.

"Line up. Line up. African Administration trainees, line up here," he kept shouting until they'd all fallen in line. They were marched through the bunker. First, Jake was given the once-over by a healer and declared to be healthy. Then he was fitted for a civil-service uniform and issued three more in the same size. He was also given boots and a heavy over-jackets in blue with an Africa-shaped patch on the chest.

"Great insulators," the drill sergeant told the group about the jackets. "Nothing like a civil-service jacket. Keep you warm in cold climates and cool in hot climates." As they marched out the far end of the bunker, Jake had to admit it was true. Despite the heavy jacket, he felt cooler then he had in his civilian clothes.

Those civilian clothes were now shoved in a bag along with his extra uniforms. The trainees were marched toward the end of the row to a bunker, which would be their quarters. The bunker was twenty-five-feet across and five or six times that long. A long, open aisle ran down the center. Each side was divided in the cubicles by a combination of bunks and dressers. They would be housed four to a cubicle, but each cubicle would have at least a modicum of privacy.

Everyone spread out to find a bunk. Jake was not surprised to find that Chatura, who so far had only stopped speaking long enough to listen to the instructions given to them by the drill sergeant, had followed him into a cubby.

Jake found a space to put his bag. A slender, young black man stood at the opening of their cubicle. "Do you mind?"

"Help yourself," Jake said. "American?"

The man gave an easy smile. "My English is very good."

So not American then, Jake thought. "Yeah, very good. Where are you from?"

"Benin." That told Jake nothing. His expression must've said so, because the man went on, "Just east of Togo. Or west of Nigeria. However you want to look at it."

"A local?" Chatura said.

"Benin is two countries away," the man chided. "It was twenty hours by bus to get here."

"American, in case you didn't guess. I came a bit farther than you, but not the farthest," Jake laughed and pointed at his chatty friend. "Just ask him where he's from."

"Not a local, I take it," the man said to Chatura.

"Shin. Took me about six hours to get here."

"But how far in miles?" Jake prompted.

"Or kilometers?" the man added.

Chatura consulted his slate before answering. "Shin is currently orbiting just within the asteroid belt. Roughly 200 million of your kilometers away."

"All right," the man said with a laugh. "You win. You're from the farthest away. I'm Abioya, by the way. A good name too. But not very accurate." He laughed. "It means 'son of a royal' in my native tongue. But mom is about as poor as you can get."

Jake took Abioya's hand and shook it. "Jake, Jake King. King means royal. But my mom's dirt poor too."

Chatura bowed and then shook Abioya's hand as well. Up at the front of the bunker, the drill sergeant hollered at them to get a move on because they had more to do today. They left their bags and made their way forward with the rest of the new trainees.