Free Edge of Infinity by Jonathan Strahan Page A

time, pushed his hands into his pockets, and headed out to the main corridor.
    Between the engineering problems in building robust surface domes and Mars’ absolute lack of a functioning magnetosphere, all the habitats were deep underground. The main corridor’s hallways had ceilings four metres high and LEDs that changed their warmth and intensity with the time of day, but Solomon still had the occasional atavistic longing for sky. For a sense of openness and possibility, and maybe for not living his whole life buried.
    Her voice came from behind him. “So, hey.”
    She walked with a comfortable rolling gait. Her smile looked warm and maybe a little tentative. Outside the dimness of the bar, he could see the lighter streaks in her hair.
    “Ah. Hey.”
    “We never really got around to meeting in there,” she said, holding out her hand. “Caitlin Esquibel.”
    Solomon took her hand, shaking it once like they were at the centre. “Solomon Epstein.”
    “Solomon Epstein?” she said, walking forward. Somehow they were walking side by side now. Together. “So what’s a nice Jewish boy like you doing on a planet like this?”
    If he hadn’t still been a little drunk, he’d just have laughed it off.
    “Trying to get the courage to meet you, mostly,” he said.
    “Sort of noticed that.”
    “Hope it was adorable.”
    “It was better than your friend Malik always finding reasons to touch my arm. Anyway. I’m working resource management for Kwikowski Mutual Interest Group. Just came in from Luna a month ago. That thing you were saying about Mars and Earth and America. That was interesting.”
    “Thank you,” Solomon said. “I’m an engine engineer for Masstech.”
    “Engine engineer,” she said. “Seems like it ought to be redundant.”
    “I always thought thrust specialist sounded dirty,” he said. “How long are you staying on Mars?”
    “Until I leave. Open contract. You?”
    “Oh, I was born here,” he said. “I expect I’ll die here too.”
    She glanced up his long, thin frame once, her smile mocking. Of course she’d known he was born there. No way to hide it. His words felt like a weak brag now.
    “A company man,” she said, letting it be a joke between them.
    “A Martian.”
    The cart kiosk had half a dozen of the cramped electric devices ready to rent. Solomon pulled out his card and waved it in a figure eight until the reader got good signal and the first cart in line clicked from amber to green. He pulled it out before he realised he really didn’t want to get in.
    “Do you –” Solomon began, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Would you like to come home with me?”
    He could see the Sure, why not forming in her brain stem. He could follow it along the short arcing path to her lips. It was close enough to pull at his blood like a moon. And he watched it turn aside at the last moment. When she shook her head, it wasn’t a refusal so much as her trying to clear her mind. But she smiled. She did smile.
    “Moving a little fast there, Sol.”
     
     
    S PEED ISN’T THE problem. Unless he runs into something, velocity is just velocity; he could be weightless going almost the speed of light. It’s the delta vee that’s hurting him. The acceleration. The change. Every second, he’s going sixty-eight metres per second faster than he was the second before. Or more. Maybe more.
    Only the acceleration isn’t the problem either. Ships have had the power to burn at fifteen or even twenty g since the early chemical rockets. The power is always there. It’s the efficiency necessary to maintain a burn that was missing. Thrust to weight when most of your weight is propellant to give you thrust. And bodies can accelerate at over a hundred g for a fraction of a second without dying. It’s the sustain that’s killing him. It’s going for hours.
    There are emergency shut-offs. If the reactor starts to overheat or the magnetic bottle gets unstable, the drive will shut down. There are