This little 21-gram container won’t last very long with almost 100 mouths to feed, Connor thought.
The Prometheus had escaped New Kathmandu Terraforming Complex over a week ago and had yet to rendezvous with the other ships that escaped as well. When Colonel Bradley had notified the crew and refugees the ship would meet with the rest of the fleet, Connor assumed it would be right away. Most of the civilians did. But none of the military seemed willing to say where or when that would happen.
Worse still, supplies were becoming critical. In preparation for the escape, every resource necessary for survival was scrounged and rushed on board. But having so many people on board stretched their supplies to the breaking point.
Nutri-paste, soap, and medical supplies were running dangerously low, especially bio-paste. Water had to be rationed since, even running at its highest speed, the water reclamation facilities couldn’t scrub the waste water fast enough. More than five tons of liquid water was aboard, but only a small portion could be used.
Ironically, they had an excess of certain supplies. Toilet paper was in such abundance that the refugee children used it like construction paper. Power, also, was flowing like a spring river. The ships ramscoops collected high energy particles as it traveled, constantly charging its systems.
Connor was still musing on their predicament when he realized he’d wandered aimlessly after collecting the paprika. He was lost again in that labyrinth of a cargo bay, and this time he had no idea where the walls were. No wall, no display panels. No display panel, no interactive map.
The man set his jaw, picked a direction, and set off at a slow jog. Outside of work, Lieutenant Tejeda was one of the most laid-back people Connor had ever met. But she ruled the kitchens with an iron fist, and she was especially hard on people she felt were slackers. If he took too long, one of her infamous tirades would certainly surge in his direction.
Within a few minutes Connor found a wall and, soon after, a panel. It took less than ten minutes for him to find his way out and back to the ships galley. Connor’s hand reached for the panel that would open the door but paused at the sound of excited whispers and hushed giggles inside. He stepped to the serving hatch on the left that never quite closed and peaked through the open crack.
Tejeda was inside with her newest conquest, her face hidden as she kissed the neck of the other woman. That woman was sitting on the counter, her legs wrapped around Tejeda’s waist and wore a look of thrilled ardor. The Lt. had one hand holding the back of the woman’s head, the other up the woman’s shirt caressing smooth skin.
Connor stepped away and had to snicker. Tejeda was a terror among other women of the crew. Rumor had it that not only had Tejeda already worked her way through almost every lesbian and bi-sexual woman on the ship, she’d even smooth-talked a few confused or vulnerable straight women into her bed. She was like a wildfire among female population and, with luck, this new woman would be enough of a distraction to deflect her ire at Connor’s tiny container of paprika. He took a deep breath, coughed loudly twice, and waited a good three seconds before pressing the door release on the panel.
When the door hissed open, Tejeda leaned against the counter with her arms crossed, her face a mix of smugness that she could show off her conquest and annoyance at their intermingling being interrupted. The other woman stood brushing the wrinkles out of her shirt, all the while trying and failing to not look completely awkward at being caught. Once he could see her face he realized it was Elizabeth Pattin, the extraordinarily attractive first form history teacher out of Hammersmith, London.
“Thanks for the tour of the galley, lieutenant,” Pattin said unconvincingly. “Your job does seem to be quite interesting.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she winced at her weak lie. No one would ever call galley-work interesting. “I suppose I’ll see you later?”
“You bet, mina,” Tejeda said first blowing a kiss at the woman, then waving dismissively. The beautiful woman’s face showed her confusion at Tejeda’s mixed signals as she hurried out the door. With her departure, the diminutive Chilean turned to Connor with a raised eyebrow. “You couldn’t have given me another ten minutes, menso? Even five would have gotten her out of her shirt.”
Connor had to grin at that. And the image of the beautiful Pattin topless. “Maybe next time you could hang a tie on the door?”
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that,” Lt. Tejeda said sarcastically. “Did you find the paprika?” She wore the pale blue coat and apron of galley personnel, blotched with multicolored stains from a week of running the kitchen. Her dark, Chilean eyes flashed at him as she growled, “It took you long enough. You should have been there and back in half that time.”
“Sorry, I got lost,” he said. “Besides, if I had, you wouldn’t have even gotten that far with Liz.”
He placed the small canister into her outstretched hand, and her eyes widened. “I told you to bring a third of the stock, Menso.” Her eyes widened even more when she saw the look of resignation on Connor’s face.
“I did. That’s it.”
“This is it?” Tejeda growled. “Yesterday’s inventory had almost three full boxes of paprika. The wholesale scavenging on this ship is getting fucking ridiculous.”
Tejeda handed the paprika back to Connor and jutted a dusky chin at a basin of nutri-paste. She shot him a resigned smile before turning back to a counter that had an array of dehydrated vegetables. Her long, silky black hair was twisted into a tight bun at the back of her head and bounced gently as she started chopping again.
Connor followed the command and dumped the entire canister into the basin. “Will this be enough?”
The Lieutenant just shrugged her delicate shoulders and grunted, “It’ll have to be.”
They worked in silence for a few moments before she broke the silence. “How does it taste?”
Connor picked up a spoon and dipped the tip into the thick paste. He held it out in front of him for a few seconds, building up the willpower to stick the vile substance in his mouth. It had no smell and no color other than bland gray.
Closing his eyes, Connor stuck the spoon into his mouth. To say it was as tasteless as plain oatmeal would be an insult to oatmeal. He couldn’t even tell there was paprika in the mess. It was disgustingly ordinary.
Connor tried to answer her, but words failed him. Nothing escaped his lips except a dry cough and silent gag.
“Yeah, that’s about what I expected,” Tejeda said with a rueful smile. “With any luck, we won’t be lynched.”
“Or maybe we will,” Connor shot back. “Then we won’t have to eat this shit.”
They snickered together as they finished prepping the evening meal. When the second shift started filtering in, Connor and Tejeda made their way to the linen bin. Tejeda had the only two chef coats onboard, leaving her unstained after their shifts. Connor, on the other hand, had sacrificed four of his shirts to the disgusting meals of the galley.
“Who’s on the vids tonight?” Tejeda asked as they pulled off their filthy galley clothes, tossing them into the linens bin. He shifted the shirt he’d been wearing underneath his galley shirt. It felt so good to have that disgusting, crusted thing off.
Once Captain Yuji discovered Connor had those classic televids on a memory rod, he named him Moral Officer. Of course, it was a title in name only. It carried no special honors or privileges. His duties simply consisted of linking the display in his quarters with the main computer so everyone could watch the televids on their own displays.
Still, it boosted his popularity on the ship. Back in New Kathmandu, Connor suffered under the title of Professor and worked in waste reclamation, easily the worst job available. But now he only heard his old title in the occasional jest. These days, most people would greet him by name in the halls and express their adoration for his televids, the only real escape many of them had. Especially the refugees. He was often inundated with requests for different televids.
“Well…” Connor started in r
esponse, “… it’ll have some drama, some comedy, and some adventure. It’ll be pretty heavy in Chris Barrie, Hope and Crosby, and Dean Martin.”
The Lieutenant turned to Connor on her way out of the kitchen. “You might have noticed I have a date tonight with Betsy. She really liked that televid about Jesus living in Compton you ran a few days ago. Any chance you could run more of that?”
“The one with Slink Johnson?” Connor asked with a smile. “Yeah, I can slide it in. How’s 1900 hours sound?”
“Twenty would be better!” Tejeda said with a huge shit-eating grin then turned to go.
“Wait,” Connor said. “What does ‘mina’ mean?”
“What do you think, menso?” she asked as she backed down the hallway. She waggled her tongue at him seductively to accentuate her point.
Connor smiled to himself as he turned to walk in the opposite direction, past the medical bay. Through its door he saw Charisma acting as a nurse in the bustling ship’s hospital. Having a huge number of refugees on top of the standard crew meant the medical bay stayed as busy as the kitchen.
It seemed to be a light day, as there were only three patients. One was resting on one of the five beds that were bolted to the floor, while the other two were being seen to by the ship’s doctor and Dawud. Thanks to the bio-plasm, the doctor managed to recover just the day before, although he sported a thick bandage around his injured left temple.
Charisma was busy tidying the medical bay when she caught sight of Connor in the hallway. He shot a grin at her as she flashed her palm at him with her fingers spread three times, then tapped the back of her wrist. 15 minutes. Connor nodded his understanding then mouthed My quarters. She nodded and Connor was off at a trot.
As soon as the door to his quarters hissed shut he was stripping out of his sweaty, grungy clothing for a shower. One thing hadn’t changed between New Kathmandu and the Prometheus: His quarters were still not much more than a closet.
But at least this was a better closet that he had previously. This time, his quarters were a former chemical storage room, most of which had been dumped to make space for the extra personnel. Of course, for safety concerns, every chemical storage room was required to have an emergency shower. That emergency shower became his personal shower and those were a luxury few others had on the ship. All the other men and women aboard had to use the communal shower room one deck down.
Connor looked to the other bunk in his little quarters. It was perfectly made as though it was never used. Master Sergeant William Carter fit every stereotype Connor ever had of a Texan. From the easy drawl, to the love of meat, to his thick beard, he all but screamed Texas to Connor. Even the man’s nickname, Wild Bill, fit the image perfectly.
However, there was one attribute to his roommate that decidedly broke from Connors image of a Texan. The man was almost obsessive in his fastidious neatness. His entire side of the cabin was neatly cleaned, packed, and sorted. Every time Connor saw the inside of Wild Bill’s footlocker, its contents were perfectly sorted and labeled, by size, frequency of use, and even color. Wild Bill’s entire side of the room was sorted and labeled just like his footlocker.
Connor was a little different. Everything had its place. The problem was, that place could be one of several locations. Clean clothes and personal supplies were strewn about his side of the cabin like a minefield. The hamper on his side of the room was so full that it looked as though it would burst and send shrapnel of dirty clothing through the cabin at any moment. He had his own system that made no sense to anyone else.
Grabbing a set of clean clothes from his bunk, Connor jumped into the shower. He only had a few minutes left before Charisma would show, and he had to be ready. He knew she’d want to use his shower, and while she was busy he’d dig the jar of peanut butter from the bottom of his footlocker.
Connor had just finished dressing when the chirp of his door chime called his attention. He pressed the panel that opened the door and was greeted by Charisma’s smiling face.
“Took you long enough,” Connor said with a smile. “Been waiting for what seems like an hour.” He walked back to his bunk and sat in mock exasperation.
Her smile almost stole his breath away. “If I’ve upset you that much then maybe I should leave.”
She turned, and Connor leaped from his bunk. He had no idea he could clear the distance from the far side of his bunk to the door that fast. Especially from a seated position. Just before he grabbed the woman’s shoulders to wrench her back to face his room, he managed to regain control of himself.
Charisma turned on her own, instead, to find Connor leaning against the doorframe trying somewhat unconvincingly to look nonchalant. “Well,” he said, voice cracking, “since you’re here…” He could feel his face heating up as she looked at him.
I can’t believe my voice cracked! Connor thought, his face feeling even hotter. I must look like such an idiot! Deep inside, he wasn’t sure if a steady voice would have made any difference.
Charisma brushed past, ignoring his embarrassment. “You know, if I’m going to stay, I’m going to need to take a shower.”
Connor just nodded, worried his voice might crack again.
She held up her empty hands. “I’m going to need something to wear. Got any spare clothes?”
He opened his mouth, but this time his voice failed him completely. Connor just nodded dumbly and coughed.
It wasn’t until he turned away from Charisma to gather her some clothes that he realized he was breathing hard and fast. He spent a second to regain some self-control.
Connor was tall and skinny, unlike Charisma, but he did have a set of cargo pants that should fit her waistline deep inside his footlocker. The search through his footlocker also produced his favorite shirt. Connor hesitated. It was a simple white shirt with an old blue, green, and gray hawk logo on the front. And it was a little snug on him. On Charisma’s somewhat ample curves… he cast a lecherous glance at the woman.
He allowed himself just a moment of lustful imaginings before he abandoned the thought and grabbed a simple t-shirt that should fit her better, along with a towel. Charisma smiled at him as he handed over the articles and glided to the shower.
As soon as the shower started, Connor sifted through his footlocker and found his hidden treasure of peanut butter. He sat on his bunk shifting it from hand to hand. Then he tried hiding it under his pillow, only to move it under the blankets of his bed. Still unsatisfied with its location, he returned it to his hand.
Connor was still staring at the treasure in his palm when the door hissed unexpectedly open. Wild Bill stood in the doorway.
“You have peanut butter?” he gasped with his mouth hanging open in shock. That gaping mouth fit right in with his damp shirt and sweats. He must have just finished combat practice.
“O-only a little,” Connor stammered. The last thing he wanted to do was share his precious prize with someone other than Charisma.
Wild Bill was no fool. He glanced to the shower and a large smile spread beneath that deep beard. “I’m guessing that’s Charisma in there?”
Connor felt his heart stop for a split second. “How could you possibly know that?” he gasped.
“Well, son, I got eyes. The way you look at her, it’s pretty obvious for those of us blessed with the gift of sight.”
Connor’s eyes shot to the shower, then the peanut butter.
“Relax, son,” Wild Bill said. “I have no intension of pissing on your parade. You know, if you would’ve just told me, I’d have made myself scarce this evening.” The man eyed the jar of peanut butter. “Just a taste and I’m gone for the night.”
Connor’s eyes drifted down. There was no escaping it. He would have to share his treasure.
He opened the jar, drawing a gasp from the Texan. “That may be the prettiest sight I‘ve ever seen,” said Wild Bill. The sound seemed to come from deep within his throat like the purr of a cat. But when the realization of just how little peanut butter was contained wit
hin, Wild Bill closed his eyes. For a moment, he fought impulses born of greed.
“Keep your peanut butter,” Wild Bill said quietly. He turned away, his shoulders sagging almost imperceptibly. If Connor hadn’t lived with the man for the past week, he may not have even noticed the change. “I didn’t realize you had so little.”
Connor watched the Texan walk with pride through the door, then looked back to his treasure. It somehow had less luster than it once had. For the second time that evening, Connor surprised himself with his speed.
“Wait,” Connor said springing forward to grab Wild Bill’s arm. “You guys saved my life. A taste is the least I owe you.” The former history teacher grabbed Wild Bill’s knife out of the sheath at his waste and dipped it into the jar. A rather large portion of the jars remaining contents exited with the tip of the knife.
Wild Bill grasped Connor’s wrist and moved the blade to his mouth. Texas lips closed over a small amount of the treasured peanut butter at the blade’s tip and Wild Bill’s eyes closed in ecstasy. For several seconds Wild Bill’s jaw worked as he chewed on the wondrous flavor. There were no words to describe the look of pleasure on the Texan’s face. Ecstasy doesn’t even begin to describe it. When his eyes finally opened again, he placed his blade against the lip of the peanut butter jar and slid the left overs back inside.
“I won’t forget this, Connor.” Wild Bill placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder and gave him a small smile before turning away. “I expect to see some Texas shows on the Vids tonight!”
“They’ll be on right away.” Connor whispered at the man’s retreating back.
Connor returned to his room, staring the entire time at his jar of peanut butter. He wondered if their positions were reversed, if he’d have the strength to turn such a fantastic gift down.
He turned to the monitor on his wall. Connor set the televid lineup to include the televids he’d told Tejeda about then programmed it to randomly select various programs for the rest of the evening. True to his word, though, he made sure it started with several vids about Texas and some of Wild Bill’s favorite military dramas.
Echoes of Avarice Page 4