I know what you want, part 1

Another ship comes in, its lovely silver hull wavering through the heat. It's like a piece of jewelry. The heat that touches me here on the hill is only the heat of the sun, but it's hot, and I fancy I can feel the heat of the dock, that furnace of light and ozone. It's a beautiful day in San Francisco and I can almost taste the money I'm about to make.

It takes me only fifteen minutes to walk down the hill to the shore. My shadow is huddled under my bare feet. Even through my shades, the light gleaming off the newest ship leaves blue streaks on my vision. Now I feel the heat of the engines. It's hard to even draw in a breath.

I come up to the gate and lean on the railing and watch. There are a lot of tourists... I want somebody my own age for once, a young one. A young, happy one. My eyes follow the stream of men and women clanking down the ramp. They wear such dark clothing in space. They're so serious.

I see a couple--older, by the way they carry themselves--so unconcerned--already pulling out money and heading for a tram. They're wearing head-to-toe black, they both have short hair, they have gold-plated shades. I like that couple. All business. They know where they want to go. But I want... there's a group of young guys, so full of energy, dragging a girl after them, laughing. They're loud, and I don't understand what they're saying. I love their accents but I hear so many dialects here and even I don't understand them all. It could be fun. To rope them over, grab one of their bags, try to convince them by gestures to follow me. But I'm tired after last week and I just want an easy, sweet young tourist, wide-eyed and deep-pocketed.

They come here to have fun. And you can have fun in space, but it's amazing how heavy everything can be in a place known for its lack of gravity. All the good drinks are so expensive. Hell, the ships are expensive. One rowdy night and you're paying for a new titanium fixture for the rest of your life. And watch out who you hook up with because in space, word gets around. Personally, I think it's the vacuum. When you're separated from deadly emptiness by only a foot of cold titanium, your whole life, it's bound to make you serious.

It's funny how folks from out there think of Earth as dangerous. Because it's got animals, because it's got weather, because it's not clean. But I'm here to play into that. I'm here to be your tour guide.

I see several unaccompanied guys on the dock now, gathering their bags and looking around. Blonds, brunettes, redheads. There's one with a guitar on his back... yes, I could take that one. It's so easy. It's easy because I know what they want. Nobody comes to Earth who doesn't want it--at least, not to this station. They've come to get in touch with something, something they've read about, seen on a screen... they want something authentic... most of all, they want to let go of being their serious selves and be Earthlings for a little bit. Just for a vacation, understand. Just temporarily. They want a good excuse to be wild. It tempts them and it scares them at the same time.

But I'm here. So reassuring. And it's so easy. Because I know what they want better than they know it, and that little edge gives me all the confidence in the world. I don't even have to move yet. I did my work ahead of time, mostly the outfit. I look exactly like what they expect: nothing but a pair of shorts, a bandana and a deep tan. And I've gone half-blond from the sun and sometimes I let myself get a little stubbly, but I don't pump iron. Too fake. So I'm a little soft. But it's amazing how the scruffy Earth-boy thing works: someone always ends up making a beeline for me. Stereotypes are so reassuring!

But I want that one--he's walking now, toward the gate, and I push my shades onto my head and just watch him. Without blinking. He's so tall and lean, and straight, I feel like I could plant him here and he'd grow into a poplar in a few years. His black clothing makes him look even leaner. Is he a singer? Maybe he writes poetry too... those dark eyebrows. So serious. And here he comes, drifting with the other passengers through the gate.

"Tour guide!" I yawn at a passing cloud. A clump of dark tourists clank through the gate without making eye contact. "Native Earthling... I know all the places you won't find in the books... reasonable fees..." And as he passes, I grab his elbow and pull him out of the stream with a big grin. "What's your name?"

He stares at me for a moment, looking a little scared. His eyes are, what do they call it, hazel. When they don't fit the label of any other color. "Rafe Savitz," he says.

Rafe. Raphael? His voice is too deep for his skinny body, and he has a little accent... of Gamma Station, perhaps... it's so hard to tell. I wonder how old he is. "I like you," I say, keeping the big grin on my face. "You look like you'd know how to appreciate Earth. Not like most of these folks... they come for a week, they eat and drink a lot, they never see half of what they came to see."

He blinks.

"Look, smile! You're on Earth!" I poke my knuckles in his side and he grins spontaneously, and I think I'm just about going to die. If he's sweet, this could be good. "Look around! Sun's out, birds are singing, we've got a whole city and a beach and a jungle to explore... how long are you here for?"

Rafe adjusts the strap of the guitar on his shoulder. "Just for three days. Then I'm going to Tokyo."

All right. "All right. Listen--" I lean in, looking right in his eyes. "For ten thousand a day, I can show you Earth--the real Earth--I mean, things your friends back home have never seen. Or done. No resorts. No tourist traps. Just real city, real wilderness, real people. All right?"

The guy is beaming. There's a light in his eyes that makes me feel warm just looking at him. He glances around now, looking for copies of me, trying to decide if I'm for real. And there are other tour guides here, Steph and Visor and Jim, working the tourists, and they're all good. I mean they're good at making a dollar and they're good at showing a tourist a good time. But I have this big grin on my face saying "Let's get out of here, just you and me" and somehow Rafe knows I'm not just in it for the money. And I'm not just in it for the work. I want him.

I want that light in his eyes. I want to see his wonder. I want him to have a very, very good time on Earth. Look at him! And there's nothing I love more than making a customer happy... he's so genuine... right from space, with his long fingers, his serious face and sudden smile... I love people but I love this guy. And I've got him.

"Yeah," he says, shrugging the guitar up on his shoulder again. "Okay. Let me get my money."