by Samuel Best
“What does that make me?” asked Merritt.
“Har!” Willef barked.
He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. His squat head shook from side to side as he cursed the situation.
They reached the door to the bridge and Willef stopped Merritt by throwing his arm across his path.
“Let me do the talking,” he said.
“I don’t know why you want me here in the first place,” Merritt admitted.
Willef grinned. His broad, lined face curled up at the edges, like someone lifting the sides of a stack of pancakes.
“Misery loves company,” he said.
He took another step and the doors whooshed open.
Merritt felt as if he’d just entered a museum. The equipment within the room was old, but in good repair. Every polished surface shone in moody pockets of light, the space between each station pleasantly dark.
The far wall of the circular room was a single long screen, segmented by various windows filled with data streams and security camera feeds.
The captain’s chair swiveled around and the man occupying it stood up briskly.
“Foreman,” he called out stiffly.
“Evenin’, Cap,” said Willef.
He and Merritt crossed the quiet room and stood before the captain, who regarded Merritt with an arched eyebrow.
“New this tour?” he asked.
“Yes,” Merritt replied.
Willef elbowed him.
“Yes, sir.”
The captain turned his attention back to Willef. “What can I help you with, Foreman?”
“Well, Cap’n Williams, I know you’re busy, so I’ll get right down to it. I think we should add all those spare escape modules to the hypergel tanks. They’re already set in the launch tubes, after all.”
“That goes against regulations when carrying so few passengers, as you well know,” said Captain Williams.
“Yes, sir. I also know that most of the passengers don’t have red tickets. The internal hull breach that occurred passing through the Rip is flooding the pod chamber at the back of Deck 2. Those are all blue ticket escape pods, sir.”
“I know the layout of my ship, Foreman,” Williams said haughtily. “The system didn’t register a hull breach. Did you visually confirm it?”
“The lattice chamber is flooded with radiation, sir,” Willef said, grinding his teeth.
“I thought the Magellan suits were designed for such environments.”
“Normally, yes. But as I said, the breach is letting extra rads into the chamber.” He glanced sideways at Merritt, as if to say, Can you believe this guy? “Passengers can’t access any other escape pod without a red ticket. It would be prudent to add escape pod capability to the hypergel tanks. It is my firm belief that there is something wrong with this ship. Sir.”
“Foreman,” said Williams, straightening his back, “under no circumstances will you disobey regulations. Is that clear? I have personally investigated the infrequent shudders afflicting this ship, as per your request. The survey teams found nothing out of the ordinary. Engine diagnostics report no errors. If the system isn’t registering any problems, and you can’t confirm their existence, then there are none. Bring me evidence and I’ll review the facts at that time.”
“I could bring you the facts,” Willef said through clenched teeth, “if you let me do my job.”
“Is that so? If you find yourself unable to handle the stress of your duties, Foreman, I will happily find someone to replace you. Life is too short to spend it in a constant state of dismay, wouldn’t you agree? Dismissed.”
He turned around and sat in his chair. Pushing a button on his armrest, he called for a cup of black tea, no sugar.
Willef stomped out of the room, indifferent to the general air of quietude, Merritt following close behind.
When they were out in the hallway and the doors had closed behind him, Willef pounded the wall with his fist.
“We’re doing it anyway,” he said, fuming. Then he jabbed a finger toward the bridge. “How that boy scout ever got command of a ship like this boggles my mind.”
“Won’t the captain know?” asked Merritt.
“What do I care?!” Willef shouted, throwing up his hands. “Can’t kick us off the ship. Let’s go.”
A swipe of Willef’s foreman’s badge got them into a crew elevator at the end of the hall. They floated up into the air as they entered, grabbing chromed hand-holds to pull themselves all the way in.
The elevator jerked sideways after Willef punched in the code for the stasis room. It ran parallel to the hallway, then stopped abruptly and began its descent to the bottom of the ship’s habitable section.
“The problem with these bureaucratic types,” Willef mused as the pair of them floated in zero gravity, “is that they can’t think outside the box. Everything is regulation this and regulation that. That imbecile wouldn’t know a hull breach if one split the wall screen in front of him.”
Merritt rode in silence, firmly gripping two hand-holds to keep from bumping into the walls.
“Take these elevators, for example,” Willef continued. “All of ‘em shut down if there’s an emergency. But what if it ain’t a fire, or a total hull breach? What if it’s just a rad leak in a passenger’s stateroom? What if some guy has a heart attack and his wife punches the alarm? Wouldn’t you want to use the elevators?”
He stared at Merritt, seemingly intent on getting a response.
“Sure,” said Merritt when he realized he should say something.
“Absolutely!” Willef shouted triumphantly. “But try to tell it to the guy in the big chair and he threatens to take your job away.” He looked at Merritt sharply. “Did you test the black boxes like I asked you?”
Merritt nodded. “All of them are recording. I couldn’t test the nav beacons, though.”
“They’re on a closed system, linked to the colony beacon. Was there a blinking red light?”
“No.”
“Then it’s picking up the colony’s signal. That’s good enough.”
The elevator gradually slowed to a stop. When the door opened, Merritt dropped out of zero-g onto the floor of the hallway, his stomach dropping a moment later, sending a wave of nausea rolling up his throat. He swallowed hard.
“Gets me every time, too,” said Willef. He slapped Merritt on the shoulder and headed for the stasis room. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
Just off the entrance to the stasis room was another door that led to a room filled with boxes, each as tall as Merritt. They were stacked vertically, three-high, and filled the room almost to the door.
“I always wondered what these were for,” he said.
Willef grunted as he grabbed a hand truck and tipped a box onto it.
“Mystery solved,” he said. “Best thing about using the hypergel tanks for escape pods is they don’t have ticket restrictions if everything goes south. I never understood why they labeled them in the first place.”
“Need a reason to sell more red tickets,” said Merritt, straining as he tilted a box onto a hand truck.
“Probably. Just wish the equipment foreman could locate the nav beacons for the gel tanks. He can’t find ‘em, or so he says. Guy couldn’t find his own face if he had ten hands, if you ask me.”
“I’ve been down to the storage warehouse,” said Merritt. “It’s a disaster.”
Willef chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth. Well, I guess there’s a bright side. At least we don’t have to install impact foam canisters on the gel tanks like we do with the escape pods. Those weigh a ton.”
“Is the foam stronger than hypergel?”
“It’s solid once it expands inside the pod. Fills up like that,” he said, snapping his fingers, “right before the pod hits the surface. Heaven help you if the hatch don’t open, ‘cause the only way you’re gettin’ through that foam is with an industrial roto-saw.” He wheeled his cart around and pushed it out the door. “We’ll start with your boy’s t
ank first, then install them in the other tanks.”
“Do really think things are that bad?” asked Merritt.
Willef paused in his struggle to lift another box onto the hand truck.
“It almost never goes bad,” he said seriously. Then he held up the index finger of his left hand — the hand with missing ring and pinky fingers. “But sometimes, just sometimes, it does.”
TULLIVER
Two Months Later
The promenade on Deck 5 was emptier than usual.
Between the passengers who opted for a tank full of gel to the ones who kept to themselves, the place was all but deserted.
Tulliver didn’t mind.
His bar still saw enough action, and the lack of prying eyes made it easier to do business. He and Ivan were in a dark corner of the promenade, convincing a reluctant passenger that doing business was in his best interest.
Ivan held the man up by his neck, feet kicking against Ivan’s shins as he struggled for a breath. Tulliver was impressed by Ivan’s strength, but what he appreciated more was the fact he didn’t see it coming.
At a quick glance, Ivan was skin and bones. Clothes meant for someone his height were invariably baggy on his wiry frame, yet he possessed an animalistic power that was on full display in that moment. His eyes bulged with anger. The tendons in his neck stood out in thick cords. A vein bulged in his forehead.
All because he was told this passenger wanted to hurt Tulliver.
The man gagged and spat as he tried to speak, clawing impotently at Ivan’s hands.
Tulliver rested his hand on Ivan’s shoulder, guiding him to lower the man’s feet to the floor.
“What’s that you say, friend?” asked Tulliver, cupping a hand to his own ear.
The man sucked in a breath, then coughed it back out. A thick sheen of sweat covered his ghost-white face. Wet curls of dark hair plastered his brow.
“I—I told you I don’t have it,” he croaked, wincing as he rubbed his red throat.
“I heard you the first time. I just didn’t believe it.” Tulliver’s eyes gleamed as if he were looking into the pit of the other man’s soul. “But now?” he added thoughtfully. “Now I believe you. Ivan, make sure he never forgets that there are consequences for his actions. He made two promises he couldn’t keep, so take two fingers as payment.”
“Nnnno!” the man yelled, launching himself from the wall.
Ivan caught him by the throat and slammed him back. Tulliver handed him a pair of wire cutters, and Ivan stared at then dumbly.
“Snip, snip,” said Tulliver, making cutting motions with his fingers.
Ivan swallowed hard and looked from the cutters to the passenger, who had gone still, eyeing the cutters with dread.
“Go ahead,” urged Tulliver.
Ivan’s hand began to shake. His mouth worked as he tried to speak, but all that came out was a whimper. He looked at Tulliver helplessly.
“That’s alright, that’s alright,” Tulliver said soothingly. He gently took the wire cutters and rubbed the back of Ivan’s neck. “I know it’s the first time I asked you to do something like that. We’ll try again next time, okay? We need to be ready for Galena, and life down there will be a lot harder than it is here.”
Ivan sighed with relief as Tulliver grabbed the man’s neck. He covered most of it with his large palm, whereas Ivan needed both hands to maintain a strong grasp.
“Look away now, Ivan,” said Tulliver, as if speaking to a child.
Later, in the bar, Ivan looked surprised when Tulliver tossed a red ticket onto the table in front of him.
“Took longer than I’d hoped,” Tulliver admitted. He wiped his hands with a white napkin. “Now we’ll both live like kings.”
Ivan gingerly picked up the ticket with etched red lettering, smiling dreamily, his wide eyes absorbing every detail of the translucent plastic rectangle.
Tulliver patted his shoulder as he walked away, leaving him to his reverie.
A sense of foreboding had settled on Tulliver’s shoulders in recent days. He attempted to slough it off as he slid into his booth at the back of the bar, intent on enjoying a tender soy steak and a glass of wine, yet the feeling would not be dismissed.
It was the disquiet of knowing his current situation would not last forever.
Tulliver was pleased with what he’d built for himself in such a short time. To anyone that asked, he could proudly say he was sitting in his bar, a hellocard full to bursting, debts and favors owed to him from all corners of the ship.
It was a small empire, he admitted, but an empire nonetheless. Yet when the ship arrived at Galena, he would have to rebuild some of it from scratch. The debts and favors would carry down to the surface, providing the foundation for his new empire, yet he would still need to find a way to operate outside the warden’s jurisdiction.
He picked up his tablet and scanned through the articles in the ship’s archives pertaining to the colony. He’d read each one twice already, and others more than that. Tulliver paid particularly close attention to the information regarding colony administration. Two wardens were to go down with the colonists as government representatives. They were to manage crop payment and storage, colony safety, and regulations.
Tulliver was browsing an article about irrigation when Ivan brought his steak and wine.
“Why you always read that stuff, boss?” asked Ivan.
Tulliver picked up his knife and fork and sawed off a large chunk of steak.
“Because knowledge is power.”
Ivan shook his head. “Strength is power.” Then he grinned, showing crooked teeth. “Why you think I work for you?”
“I’d hoped it was because I was your friend.”
“But if I had these strength, I don’t need friends!” He curled his arms in a bodybuilder’s pose, then bent over laughing and slapped his knee.
Tulliver popped the chunk of steak into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
“Your English is improving,” he said. “I’m not sure I like that.”
Ivan walked away, tapping his new red ticket against the palm of his hand, whistling happily.
As Tulliver cut off massive pieces of the fake meat and chewed with his mouth open, smacking his lips with each bite, he puzzled over the conundrum plaguing him lately.
How will I get down to the surface?
So far, his attempts to acquire a genuine authorized pass had been for naught. The farmers could go, and so could the administrators and that group of scientists. Yet tourists weren’t allowed to visit the planet. The red ticket he had stolen from the businessman on Sunrise Station was meant for Mars. It would be immediately flagged if he tried to use it to board the shuttle for Galena.
He chuckled to himself as he remembered when two of the ship’s stewards had come knocking on his stateroom door after the Halcyon departed the space station orbiting Mars.
They were tired, bored, and, best of all, indifferent.
Instead of showing them his ticket as requested, Tulliver managed to twist the situation to his advantage. By the time the stewards left, they each had promised to pay him ten thousand in exchange for more favorable work shifts — a deal he knew he could secure based on his relationship with the shift operator, who still owed him thirty thousand.
Tulliver loved vice. It made his world go ‘round.
Drop me in a tank, he thought as he took another bite of soy steak, and watch me grow.
Shifting focus to something a bit more positive, he amused himself by daydreaming about the grand new life that awaited him once he successfully arrived on the surface. Perhaps he could find a hill to build his house upon, a hill that overlooked the other farms.
Next he ought to see about a house, he presumed. One of the workman had showed him where the build-it-yourself kits were stored on board. They would be tucked into the surface shuttle’s cargo hold to join the other kits that were remote-delivered to the colony site on past visits.
Tulliver had to hand it to th
e government for managing to squeeze extra money from the hopeful colonists. Not only did Cygnus Corporation drain their bank accounts with the cost of a ticket to Galena, the government scraped the accounts clean by selling clapboard homes it should be providing for free.
Everyone’s gotta eat, thought Tulliver as he bit a chunk of meat from his fork. The trick is to get in good with the people offering the food.
Up there, on the ship, Tulliver did it by being the person offering the food. He filled in the blanks, got the people what they needed, or what they thought they needed. Down on the surface? The crop debt some of the farmers had racked up with him would carry him through the first harvest. After that, he would need to find a new way to thrive.
Who knows? he thought with a wet grin. Maybe I could be mayor.
The thought cheered him up.
“Bartee!” he called. “Loud music.”
The robot bartender paused while dusting a row of liquor bottles behind the bar. It cocked its head and the lights of its eyes blinked rapidly. A moment later, bass-driven, thumping dance music blared from the ceiling. The room dimmed and multicolored spotlights painted the walls.
“Louder!” shouted Tulliver.
He raised his wine glass to his lips as the music swelled, and he grinned in the shadows of his booth.
CHAPTER TEN
MERRITT
The grated floor of the stasis room shuddered under Merritt’s work boots, rattling in its setting.
Tremors had coursed through the bones of the ship with disturbing regularity, the first one occurring a month ago. Now that the Halcyon was performing its braking maneuvers to enter the orbit of Galena, they happened once an hour.
Merritt slid the sole of his boot over the floor uncertainly as the tremor subsided. The lattice chamber remained sealed to investigation due to unusually high levels of radiation, though Willef was certain panel Y-27 had caused a serious problem.
The proof was in the shaking, he said.
The only time one ought to feel the floor of a starliner shudder in such a way was under abnormal engine duress. One of the hybrid antimatter drives was working too hard, he claimed.