Lighting Out

by Ken MacLeod

 

Mother had got into the walls again. Constance Mukgatle kept an eye on her while scrabbling at the back of her desk drawer for the Norton. Her fingers closed around the grip and the trigger. She withdrew the piece slowly, nudging the drawer farther open with the heel of her hand. Then she whipped out the bell-muzzled device and levelled it at the face that had sketched itself in ripples in the paint of her study.

“Any last words, Mom?” she asked.

Constance lip-read frantic mouthings.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. She snapped her fingers a couple of times to turn the sound up. “What?”

“Don't be so hasty,” her mother said. “I have a business proposition.”

“Again?” Constance thumbed the anti-virus to max.

“No, really, this time it's legit – “

“I've heard that one before, too.”

“You have?” A furrow appeared in the paint above the outlined eyes. “I don't seem to have the memory.”

“You wouldn't,” said Constance. “You're a cunning sod when you're all there. Where are you, by the way?”

“Jupiter orbit, I think,” said her mother. “I'm sorry I can't be more specific.”

“Oh, come on,” Constance said, stung. “I wouldn't try to get at you, even if I could.”

“I didn't mean it that way,” said her mother. “I really don't know where the rest of me is, but I do know it's not because I expect you to murder me. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Constance, kicking herself for giving her mother that tiny moral victory. “So what's the deal?”

“It's in the Inner Station,” said her mother. “It's very simple. The stuff people on the way out take with them is mostly of very little use when they get there. The stuff people on the way in arrive with is usually of very little use here. Each side would be better off with the other side's stuff. You see the possibilities?”

“Oh, sure,” said Constance. “And you're telling me nobody else has? In all this time?”

“Of course they have,” said her mother. “There's a whole bazaar out there of swaps and marts and so forth. The point is that nobody's doing it properly, to get the best value for the goods. Some of the stuff coming down really is worth something here, and all too often it just goes back up the tube again.”

“Wait a minute.” Constance tried to recall her last economics course. “Maybe it's not worthwhile for anybody to try.”

“You're absolutely right,” said her mother. “For most business models, it isn't. But for a very young person with very low costs, and with instant access – well, lightspeed access – to a very old person, someone with centuries of experience, there's money to be made hand over fist.”

“What's in it for you?”

“Apart from helping my daughter find her feet?” Her mother looked hurt. “Well, there's always the chance of something really big coming down the tube. Usable tech, you know? We'd have first dibs on it – and a research and marketing apparatus already in place.”

Constance thought about it. The old woman was undoubtedly up to something, but going to the Inner Station sounded exciting, the opportunity seemed real, and what did she have to lose?

“All right,” she said. “Talk to my agent.”

She fingered a card from her pocket with her free hand and downloaded her mother from the wall.

“You in?” she asked.

“Yes,” came a voice from the card.

The image on the wall gave a convincing rendition of a nod, and closed its eyes.

“Goodbye, Mom,” said Constance, and squeezed the trigger.

 

...the rest of this story is available in the anthology disLOCATIONS. To read it order your copy here now!