Ch. 6 - 

By the time Paul got me home from Rumik's, word of my misadventure had spread.  There were so many people at our 

tiny pub that they had spilled out onto trestles in the street.  The difference between this and any other 

festival was that all the miner's still had their tools with them.



“Whasis?!”  I shouted as I jumped from the still moving flitter into the mass of miners.



“Your goin' way party, girl.”  My father shouted back, pounding me on the back.   He spared a suspicious look for 

Paul's flitter. “There's presents.”



I blinked several times as Paul leaned out of his flitter.



“I'll be going now, 'Temi.  I wouldn't want to interfere with the festivities.”



“Hell, man, you's the reason there's still festivities to happen.”



“Least I could do, sweety.”  He said, his voice back to it's usual level of whipped cream.  “Good luck.  In all 

your endeavors.”



I gripped his shoulder firmly and nodded, unable to speak.  Then he was back in his flitter and gone.  The miners 

heaved a collective sigh of relief at the official departure and clumped up around me, firing questions like 

flares.  



“Wha's Admin like?”  “You in trouble?”  “Wha'fuck going on?”  My father quieted them with one hand.



“She fine.  See, she back.  Now leaver fuck alone an' letter getter breath, get me?”  They got him.  Everyone went 

cautiously back to actually celebrating rather than pretending to and Dad led me into the pub.  We went back to 

the best booth, one usually reserved for whoever was buying the drinks.  My mother threw her arms around my neck.  

She was crying and I hugged her back gingerly.



“You good?”  Dad asked over Mom's sobs.  His voice was rougher than usual.  I just nodded, suddenly too relieved 

to say anything out loud.  “Good.  No kidda mine gonna get shafted by no Admin just for bein' lucky.”



I settled into the booth next to Mom and looked out over my fellow miners.  They had all told me I was crazy for 

years, but here they were, and there they had been at Gregin's complex, cutters in hand.  It was daunting, and my 

resolve to get word to the Imperials of how things were here was tightened.  But it was a party atmosphere, and 

gods know after Rumik's, I needed it.



There was a long table laden with gifts, the brightly wrapped packages representing hours of extra labor in the 

mines to buy the useless paper from the Company Store.  The contents were likely costly as well, since Cthonian's 

aren't cheap when it comes to present.  I guess I was popular.



The pubman was playing some old 20th century Earth music in deference to my tastes.  His youngest must have yanked 

it from the Educomp just for this party.  Gods know nobody else on Cthonia listened to it, and twisted limbs don't 

jitterbug well, but we tried that night, by god.  Everyone was dancing and eating and talking and I wondered if 

people throw shindigs like that for going away just so you'll remember their best and miss them when you've gone.



I had just finished dancing with the Shaft 7 workers rep when someone tapped my shoulder.  I whirled around and 

there was Ziggy, frowning a me 'til I thought his face was gonna implode.



“Ziggy!”  I grinned blearily, rather the worse for engine cleaner.  “Where ya been, man?”



“Workin'.”  He growled.  “You wanna dance?”



“Hell yeah!”  I threw my arms around his massive shoulders, trying to be mindful of his leg.  “You... you're the 

man of the hour!”



“Wha?!”  He stared at me threateningly.  “Whatchu on about?”



“You, man!”  I smiled, hugging him around the neck.  He was enough shorter than me that he went face first into my 

breasts and he was grinning in spite of himself when I let him up for air.  “None of this would be happenin' but 

for you, man.  You brought the flyer!”



“Yer drunk, Grace.”  He gruffed, but there was a blush under his rock marked face. 



“Hell I am!”  I bellowed, giggling.  He just smiled again and patted my ass.  “So, Zigs, you wanna fuck?”



He blinked three times, open mouthed and I laughed again.  Then he closed his mouth but the smile stayed.



“Lords, there were days I wouldda given weeks pay to hear you ask that, girl.”  I grabbed his hand and pulled him 

toward the shadows, but he didn't move.  He hadn't moved an inch when I looked back at him.  “I'm goin' over to 

bar, love.  I got some drinkin' ta do.  You still wanna fuck when you're sober, you'll know where I be.”



“I ain't tha' drunk, man.”  I said, weaving on my feet.  He just laughed and went to the bar.  I shrugged and let 

him go.



The party went on for three days, and my gifts were amazing.  Most everyone had gone in together to get me things 

I would need and use rather than just stuff to fill my space allotment, and I was glad.  Each person was limited 

to a certain amount of cubic space, and carrying more than your allotment was pricey as hell.



The boys from the grader station had gotten me a new pair of all terrain boots, the kind with gripper soles so you 

could wear them shipside.  They were black and slick and came up over the knees, waterproof and even a cave spider 

couldn't bite through them.  The gals from the clinic got me a new thinsuit, it was black, too and I was sensing a 

theme.  It was rip proof, stain proof and you could pass it through a sonic or wear it in the fresher and once you 

wrung it out it was dry in seconds.  I put on the suit with the boots and every one cheered.  You'd think it was a 

social coup rather than a near disgrace to be leaving Cthonia.



Little brother Boo gave me an automatic cosmetic case.  I don't think he even knew what it was, but it had 

everything I might need to pass in Impie society.  I pressed it against my face and pressed the firing stud, then 

looked up to rowdy cheers, catcalls and whistles.  I guess it worked.



Ziggy handed me three new blades for my cutter.  They were types I hadn't tried before but had been considering 

for my next sculpture and I kissed him very thoroughly for them.  He gruffed and went back to the bar.



My Dad handed me a wrapped package and I was surprised.  I figured the cosmetics were from the family.  I 

unwrapped the package and whistled myself, eyebrows fleeing for my hairline.  It was a personal communit, top of 

the line, fully voice active, capable of full pax access.  It had all the bells and whistles and was small enough 

to wear on my right wrist.  I put it back in the box reverently, not willing to risk it in the crowd no matter 

how durable the manufacturer said it was.  I tried to speak, but he glowered so fiercely I figured I better just 

nod unless I wanted to wear fresh bruises into space just on general principles.  He nodded back and hugged me.



“I'm proud of you, girl.”



There were more presents than I could count, even if they were only a few credits in an old pay envelope.  By the 

time I got out of there, I was set for my trip plus some, and probably could have bought passage offworld if I 

hadn't won it.



I was drunk on jubilance when I finally left the pub, something I had only tasted when sculpting before.  I had 

felt community for a few fleeting days, and while it was nowhere near enough to keep me here, it had reminded me 

what I was looking for.  



As I walked down the street in the growing dawn, I saw a bent old figure shuffling off down a side street.  He had 

said wait 'til I was sober, and I was sober now.  I know he'd thought I was just trying to show my gratitude, but 

it wasn't so.  I had to feel those shoulders nude before I left Cthonia.  I wanted to sculpt him and I needed to 

touch him, and, yeah, he had been good to bring me that flyer.



“Hey, old guy!”  I shouted after him and he froze, then turned to me, smiling widely.  “You wanna fuck?”



He laughed until I thought he was gonna cry, then held out his hand to me.



“You are t'end, Artemisia Grace.”  His gravel voice was still shot through with laughter, like sparkling bits of 

ore mixed in dross.  “Th' very end.”



“Omega girl, tha's me.”  I smiled, taking his gnarled hand.  His hands were huge, and hard, and something about 

them made my body soft.  The laugh that was caught on his face finally belled free again and we linked arms.



“You sure about dis?”  He asked and I frowned at him.



“Don'cha want it?”  I asked.  Maybe Ziggy only liked the boys.  “'Cause, if ya don't...”



“Don't be stupid, girl.”  He smiled again, and this one was deeper, almost secretive, and it made me shiver.  My 

fingers twitched.  If Hephaestus had smiled that way at Aphrodite, she'da told the others to get lost in a hurry.  

“'Course I do.  Just don't want pity or gratitude.”



“Hell, geezer,” I laughed, tugging on his arm.  “I been wantin' to get yer shirt off for months.”



We went back to his place and he showed me how age and experience can out do youth and beauty.  Then he showed me 

again, and then again, and by the time I passed out, I wondered why anybody ever went to bed with a young man. His 

shoulders were as magnificent as I'd thought, and so were his arms.  His hands brought art out of my body and I 

caught fire under him as if I were made of it.



I sculpted his shoulders under my hands, and cried out as the celestial fire broke in me, washed through me, 

transfixed me.  He pinned me at the center of the universe and made me a goddess.  He stroked my hair and kissed 

my hands and the intensity in his eyes singed me.  He was hotter than a crucible and I melted and  was reforged 

under his touch.



I am still bewitched by those shoulders, those arms.  If you ever want to see them, go to the basilica and look at 

my Hephaestus.  Ziggy don't look like that anymore, but that's how he'll always look to me.  A Cthonian Greek, 

shattered by godhood.



When I woke up, he was already gone to the mines.  It was the day before I left and I didn't see him again until 

time to board the ship.  I went home, stiff and sore from exertion and at peace.  I was getting out.  I was 

getting away.  



The message light was blinking on my terminal.  It was a coded email from Saint, no voice.  He wished me luck and 

had left a gift in my account.  When I checked my account, every credit I'd ever spent with him was in it.  

Bastard.  As if he hadn't given me enough already.



I tried to reach him, but the comm number wasn't working.  Disappointment wanted to rise in me but I stepped on it 

firmly.  I'd already offered to take him with me.  I replied to the email with a thank you, please call me and set 

to packing.



When the comm buzzed two hours before I was to go to the spaceport, I damn near teleported to it.

 

“Yeah?”  



“Greetings and farewell, my bonny artiste.”  His mask was smiling at me and my throat closed. 



“Saint.  Hey!  How are you?”  I could almost hear him frown.



“I am as ever, oh goddess.”  He answered.  I fidgeted in my chair.  It wasn't like me to call just to shoot the 

breeze and I knew he was wondering if I'd lost it.  I had prayed he'd call before I left and now I couldn't think 

of what to say. 

 

“I owe you.”  I managed at last, cursing inadequate words and wishing I had time to sculpt out what I felt.  I 

only speak stone.



“No, you don't.”  That melodious voice was amused.  “It's the least I could do.  Besides, my dove, you will wing 

away to the Imperium and become famous, and while you do, you will send aid to this benighted place.”



“Yeah.”  I nodded.  “You bet I will.”



“That is all the thanks anyone could ask, dear one.  And more than I deserve.”



“Bullshit.”  I laughed.  “I owe ya, an' I won't forget.”



“A mere man is remembered by a goddess and his immortality assured.  To what more grandiose fate could he aspire?  

But, is there ought else this poor mortal can do to aid you in your ascendance?”



I blinked, parsing it out, then swallowed slowly.  This was harder than I'd expected.  There was so much I wanted 

to say, so much left unexpressed, and he seemed in a hurry to get off the comm.  Maybe Rumik's goons were after 

him.



“Nah, I just...  Are ya sure ya don' wanna come with me?”



“I cannot, my dove.”  He answered and I could hear him smiling.  I never wanted to see his face more than at that 

moment, but Guy Fawkes grinned back at me and my eyes were only graced by scarlet taffeta.  “I must remain behind 

and you must fly free for both of us.”



“Okay.”  I nodded, burying tears under my rock face, then something struck me and it seemed as vital as breathing.  

“Hey, do you still want Yearning?”



He froze, then nodded once, slowly, like a man who fears himself.



“She's yours, then.  You just come get her.  I'll tell my ma.  I won' tell her who you are, just that I sold the 

piece, 'kay?”



He was still for a long moment, then he nodded again.



“It would please me to have that part of you, little goddess.”  I nodded, throat closing.  “Fly far and free and 

land safely on some better shore where you may be attended by all the best in luck and life.”



“You, too.”  I managed at last.  “G'bye, Saint.”



“Goodbye, Artemisia.  Farewell.”  The connection was broken, but I sat at the terminal for a long time.  When I 

got up, I finished my packing mechanically.  There wasn't much left to pack, my tools and small sculptures having 

been sent on ahead with an Imperial escort.  The payload master from the ship had been amazed.  I'd been given the 

exact dimensions of the cubic I had to fill, and I had filled it exactly, leaving a scant millimeter on each side 

for margin.  



The payload master had to break out his measuring laser, expecting to have to tell the rube from the backworlds to 

cut down on her stuff.  He apologized to me when he found that my package was exactly the dimensions I had stated 

in the manifest. I had just grinned at him.  Measurements off by a millimeter in the mines can be a disaster.



There was nothing left for me to pack and I looked around at the hovel where I'd been born.  It seemed bare when 

stripped of all my things, but the back still looked like I'd been there.  My grantium statues couldn't make the 

trip.  They were too bulky.  They stood out in the back like gravestones, silently marking the place where a 

fledgling had sought flight.



I sighed once, then turned and walked away, never looking back.  My parents were waiting in the town square with 

half the populace to see me off.  Shaft 4 must have been empty that day.  Ziggy nodded at me solemnly and I 

grinned and stepped up to where the shuttle was waiting.



“Oh, hey Mom.  I sold the sculpture labeled Yearning, 'kay?  Somebody will be by to pick it up, eventually”



“Sure, baby.”  She smiled through her tears, patting my shoulder.



I hugged my parents, and snuggled little brother Boo, then I grabbed my old miner-god and snuggled him, too.  He 

looked stricken for a moment, then smiled though his rock ruined cheeks were damp.



“Fly, my girl.  Fly free for us all.”  He whispered, and for a moment his voice was smooth as glass.  Then he was 

gone into the crowd, leaving me holding a coat in numb hands. 

 

“My gods, what a colossal idiot I am.”  I remember thinking, then I squared my shoulders and pulled on the coat, 

covering my fracturing heart in more signature black.  The coat was floor length black leather, the real stuff, 

never seen a vat, and tailored to fit me like it was made for me, even across the shoulders.  Wide lapelled and 

high collared, it was armor against my sudden fear, and picked out on the back of it was a red V.  I still wear 

that jacket.  It's my favorite.