Coleen frowned. Obviously, somebody in the corrections service felt that putting a kid’s clothes into a washer for a tumble was just too much trouble. “Well, let’s see if we can get you something nicer. Hmm?”
She took Deirdre to the nearest shop, an upscale joint with children’s garments in the picture window and strode in with every intention of buying Deirdre a new outfit or two. Unfortunately, she hit a snag right off the bat when the proprietor said, “Hey, lady, you know you can’t bring that mutant brat in here.”
Coleen could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but Deirdre didn’t even seem surprised. “It’s okay. I can wait outside.”
Without another word, she let go of Coleen’s hand and slunk out of the store. Coleen considered marching out of the place in protest but doubted she’d find a more reasonable place to shop in the downtown area. As efficiently as she could, she selected a few Deirdre sized outfits, paid the clerk, and stormed out the place with a slam of the door.
“Here you go,” she said as she handed the shopping bag to the child. “Now, let’s take you to the Devil Dog. It’s the place I’ve been staying at. You can change there.”
When Deirdre came out of the restroom at the UVA post, she wore a cute and comfortable looking purple jump-suit with pink pockets. She looked adorable, and she also adored the cake, double fudge with eight candles. Deirdre didn’t actually know the date of her birth, so Coleen figured that today was as good as any other day to celebrate it.
She lit the slender candles on a cake, and the kid made a wish for a doggie. Marius and his wife grinned as Coleen asked her, “Deirdre, I want to take you with me. I want to take care of you. Can I do that?”
The child tilted her head and gave Coleen a look that said, “Are you kidding?” and answered, “Yes.”
Coleen beamed a smile brighter than the Blue Nebula. “Thank you. Now, I bought two tickets for a spaceship ride. I want us to go to Tarkan. My spaceship will be there soon, and I want you to live with me on it. Is that okay?”
Deirdre’s only question was, “What’s a Tarkan?”
* * *
The tickets Coleen could afford were hardly for first-class accommodations. The ship was an old Rino class tanker with an unused stateroom that doubled as a mop closet. Coleen took the bottom bunk because Deirdre preferred the top.
“I’m sorry this isn’t very comfortable,” Coleen said as she tested the foam rubber mattress.
“It’s fine. When do we get into space?”
“Didn’t you know?” Coleen replied. “We blasted off half an hour ago. The ship’s anti-gravity systems keep our feet on the deck, and when they’re working right, you can’t feel the ship move at all. I’ll give Captain Shula credit, this tanker looks like hell, but it’s in tip top shape otherwise.”
“We’re in space? I want to see. I want to see!”
Coleen thought it over. The only window would be the canopy on the bridge. The captain might not allow it, but she figured there was no harm in asking. “Okay, let’s see if we’re allowed on the bridge. But be on your best behavior and don’t touch anything.”
“I promise.”
The ship’s pilot was a nice old lady from the Western African Federation named Shula who not only let the child on the bridge, she allowed her to sit in the co-pilot’s seat. “Now, you see why Shula became a pilot.”
Deirdre’s eyes were as big as saucers as she gazed out the canopy at heaven’s array, and for once, the child was silent.
“I’ve been spacer for twenty years now. Never got over how beautiful it is up here and hope I never do.”
Half to herself, Deirdre said, “You like being a spaceship pilot?”
“Honey,” Shula answered, “it’s the best job in this whole damn galaxy.”
When they landed on Tarkan, Coleen was almost out of credits. Having just enough for food until the Starstrider came into port, she needed to find a place for her child that was out of the wind. Unfortunately, in those days there was no United Veteran’s Association post on Tarkan—just yet.
For shelter, an abandoned building two kilometers from the docking pad was as good as she could get. It was an ugly jumbled together arrangement; a prefab building and an old adobe structure. She busted down the old corrugated steel door and went inside while her child waited in the sun. Her hand comp’s light app showed the way into what may have been an old military barracks with cots left in neat rows. In the years since the Confed’ troops left, sand lizards had moved in and chewed at some of the wires and defecated on the floor. The smell was unpleasant, but the air conditioner still worked, and thankfully it had an atmosphere-scrubbing feature.
Coleen set up a bed for herself and one for her little ward. Deirdre never had her own house before, and just kept saying “I love it, I love it!” Coleen intended to make due until she could get back to her old life. Three days later, the Starstrider made landfall at the starport.
When the gangway dropped, Coleen was there to meet Buckman with Deirdre by her side. Buckman’s naturally mouth opened first. “Girl, what are you doing here? Did you escape? I knew those goons couldn’t hold you. Not my girl! You look great, who is the little...”
Coleen was in no mood for bullshit. “Shut the hell up! You set me up and then ditched me on that God-forsaken mud ball. So I’m not listening to your crap, understand? This is Deirdre,” the mutant child smiled and waved. “She is going to be staying with me. We’re moving into the starboard passenger stateroom. I’m arranging all the cargo from now on, and that is that. You and I are through, but you need a manager, and I need a job. So let’s suck it up and deal with it.”
Coleen started up the gangway with Deirdre in tow but, before she got a meter, someone blocked her. Standing in her way was a pretty young girl in a tight t-shirt with short red hair and perky tits. The girl held a flight bag with the crest of Station Eagle stenciled on the side.
Buckman spoke up, “Uh, Coleen, this is Sandy. She has your things. We don’t need your help anymore. Do we, sweet cheeks?”
Sandy giggled and handed the flight bag to Coleen.
Coleen took the bag without a word. She’d been replaced by a bimbo, and it surprised her that she didn’t even care. Going back to Starstrider had been just an attempt to return to her normal life now that she was out of prison. But in a flash, she realized that it wasn’t what she really wanted. Silently, she turned around and walked away.
“No hard feelings,” Buckman shouted to her back. “Remember, I never promised you anything, girl.”
Coleen spun around. “My name is Ms. Coleen O’Hara, and I never was your damn ‘girl.’” Spinning back around, she marched like the soldier she’d been down the gangway with the child by her side. Deirdre looked back at the strange man by the spaceship.
The child gave him a very warm smile and a very rude gesture.
When they got back to her abandoned building, Ms. Coleen was crying. She cried loud, and she cried hard. She cried until her eyes ran out of tears and then she cried on the inside. Who was she? Just an ex-con. Where was she? On some backward colony world. What did she have? A flight bag full of nothing and a little girl to feed.
Deirdre was there for her. With her arms around her entire family, the child squeezed as tight as she could.
“There, there Mommy Coleen. There, there.”
Ms. Coleen struggled to regain her breath. She’d cried so hard that she got a bad case of the hiccups and fought to regain her composure. Opening the flight bag, she started to unpack just to give herself something to do. There wasn’t much in it, just some underwear, an old gray flight uniform, some makeup, and some shirts.
And at the bottom of the bag, she noticed a small silver-gray case. She opened it, and there it was—a blue and gray ribbon supporting a silver medallion. On the face of that medallion was the four-pointed Confederation star with the words, “For The Achiever” stamped in gold letters. On the back was her name, “Specialist Third Tier Coleen O’Hara, Confederation Station S
ervice, Station Eagle.” She took the medal out of the case and clasped it tightly in her hand, then looked her little girl straight in the eye, “Sweetheart, it’s going to be all right.”
And Deirdre smiled.
* * *
The next day, wearing her best outfit, she marched up to the Confederation Bank of Trade. Deirdre’s new clothes had been washed and pressed the night before, and she looked nothing if not the sweet and adorable little kid. Ms. Coleen approached the counter and asked to see a loan officer.
Amanda Mohammed was pleased to meet the young Station Service veteran. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she asked what kind of loan Ms. Coleen was looking for.
“I want a two thousand credit, veterans’ loan; as specified in chapter two, article three, of the standard enlistment contract. Under those terms, I believe, the interest rate should be three percent and must be paid over five Earth-standard years.”
“Ms. O’Hara, even under the terms of the veterans’ loan program, the bank still needs collateral before granting your request. Do you have any real property?” The banker inquired.
“No.”
“Do you have any shares in any companies or business interests?” Amanda Mohammad asked hopefully.
“No.”
“Do you have anyone on this planet that would be willing to co-scan the loan with you?”
Ms. Coleen thought of Deirdre but was sure the kid wouldn’t do. “No.”
Amanda Mohammed seemed to hate this part of the interview. “Do you at least have a character reference I can accept?”
“I have two.” Ms. Coleen reached into her breast pocket and produced the gold life membership card of the UVA and her achievement medal. Amanda Mohammed saw them, looked left and right, then reached into her own jacket pocket and produced her own, silver twenty-five-year, UVA membership card. Apparently, three years ago, she’d been Captain Mohammed of the Confederation Marine Corps. The papers were scanned that afternoon and the credits deposited into Ms. Coleen’s account.
Their next stop, at the gray permacrete maze that the people of Tarkan called Government Complex, where Ms. Coleen purchased the abandoned building for one hundred credits from a clerk who thought she was nuts. At a hardware store, she bought some tools and cleaning supplies.
Then the real work began.
“I could only afford space-ex rations at the grocery so we’ll be living on reconstituted military chow for a while. I had to eat it in basic training once. It tastes like flavored sawdust.”
Deidre opened the foil packet and took a bite. “It tastes better than sawdust.”
“How would you know?” Coleen asked.
The child’s eyes dropped. “Because I had to eat sawdust one time.”
Coleen’s whole body shuddered as she tried to imagine what her daughter’s life had been like before she adopted the little tyke. “Well, you won’t have to do that again.” She sighed and took a look at the old barracks. “Once we clean out the main room, we’ll start on the bathrooms and the kitchen area. I think the bar can go in the back part of the room, away from the stairs. What do you think?”
Deirdre took another bite of the ration pack. “Why do you want a bar?”
“Because that’s what this place is going to be. A bar and a United Veterans post to boot.” She looked around the old building’s main room with the eyes of a dreamer. “My dad goes to a UVA post back on Earth. He says he really connects with the folks there and it helps him deal with his troubles. That’s what this place can be, a place where people can come to help them with their problems. A big warm place filled with all-right guys and gals. It’s also a way I can make a life for us, sweetheart. We won’t have to rely on anybody’s charity, and we won’t have to put up with any man’s bullshit. All it will take is a little elbow grease and some organization.”
“What’s elbow grease?”
“Oh, believe me, child, you’ll find out soon enough.”
For the next three weeks, they spent their days cleaning and repairing the old building. Decades of dust and sand lizard droppings were scrubbed clean. Tables and chairs were covered in homemade tablecloths and cushions. To replace the busted door, Ms. Coleen installed a ship’s pressure door she found in a pile of junk in the main hall.
When the place looked as good as they could get it, Ms. Coleen decided it was time to recruit some service members.
***
She sat behind a fold-out table just in front of the gate guard at the Confederation Navy base wearing her Station Service achievement medal, and a pleasant grin on her well-made up face.
“What’s this about?” asked the young marine with the slender mustache. “Some kind of protest?”
Ms. Coleen sat up straight. “No, it’s a United Veterans Membership Drive. We’re forming a post here on Tarkan.”
“Cool.” The marine flipped through a flyer. “What’s it going to do?”
With a Cheshire grin, she answered, “Give you a place to get away from all the base bullshit and chill out with your fellow jarheads.”
The marine returned her smile. “Pretty lady, I’m in.”
“Great. Be sure to tell your friends.”
Within a week she'd signed up enough provisional members to constitute a quorum. She then held court in the old building. Pack around the new bar counter, spacers, marines, and the odd stationer sipped beer she’d bought with the last of her loan money. It was cheap beer, but fortunately, her guests were all servicepersons and had lost their discriminating pallets sometime in basic training.
“We need to elect a president, a treasurer and hire a manager for the post. Now, I know most of you are still active duty and don’t have a lot of time to spare.”
“Why don’t you do all three?” a retired chief spacer offered. “You seem to have a pretty good handle on things, lady.”
“Two reasons; first, UVA rules forbid any person from holding all three posts, and second, if this place is going to succeed for the long haul it can’t be just my thing. It has to be something everybody in this room can take ownership in. Besides, I don’t know all the answers,” she shrugged, “I just act like I do.”
“Well,” the chief demurred. “I’ve got the time, and I like the sound of President Rosencrantz.”
Amanda Mohamed spoke up. “I think I can safely put my hat in the ring for treasurer. I do work at a bank after all.”
Ms. Coleen smiled. This was coming together just like she hoped. “Then I can do the manager thing. According to the UVA, bylaws pay for that position is decided by the president in consultation with the treasurer and then put to a popular vote from the dues-paying members.”
“Now you’re getting a little ahead of things, Ms. Coleen.” Looking around Chief Rosencrantz asked the assembled grunts, “Anybody else want to run for president or treasurer?” There were no takers. “Okay, show of hands, all in favor of me for president and Captain Mohamed for treasurer?”
The vote was unanimous, probably because nobody else wanted to do the paperwork. Ms. Coleen was also hired by unanimous vote, although her salary was a bit lower than she hoped. But still, it was higher than her current salary of nothing, and she felt certian she could ask for a raise once membership increased.
With all the rules and conventions in play, she sent a tran-sat burst to UVA post 1, The Spartan, on Earth, requesting to grant their petition. Six months later the charter was granted as UVA post 159: The Screaming Eagle.
When her father, John O'Hara, heard about her new venture, he sent a congratulatory burst that read, "So proud to call you my daughter. Always knew my little girl would make something special of herself."
His message warmed her. However, Ms. Coleen didn’t need to wait for the charter’s approval to start generating a profit. While still a provisional post, she bought booze and food with the last of her bank loan and opened the bar for business. It was rough at first. She was very organized but had no experience as a bar manager per se.
Raising Deirdre at the
same time also proved quite a challenge. The kid was willful and stubborn. Good traits when the child was determined to succeed, but not so good when she didn’t want to clean her room. But, by fits and starts, Ms. Coleen managed as many single mothers do.
Better paint and lighting came later. Carpet was added after that. It took a while to get things just right. But that can be said for most anything that’s worthwhile. Deirdre helped wherever she could, and when not at The Screaming Eagle with Mommy Coleen, she visited the starport. She still loved spaceships, declaring, "Someday I'm going to be a pilot and fly to the farthest stars, but not to Isis.” She’d add, “That place sucks."
Mommy Coleen encouraged her every step of the way. She also took the time to look through a telescope with Deirdre, on warm summer nights. And, oh yes, they also got a doggie.
The End
Ghost Story
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
William Shakespeare
***
One December, the MJS Vagabond, having sailed the space lanes for decades, made a fateful jump into the Boss128A system. By this time in its service life the need for constant repairs could was to be expected. The former Martian Self-Defense ship had been purchased at a scrap yard after the Azanti War by two enterprising vets, Kilroy Matterson and Burt Folks. They’d patched up the battle damage, which mostly consisted of a gaping hole in the bridge where the pilot’s seat used to be, and got the ship space worthy. They then turned the ship into a commercial freighter and plied the space lanes for decades.
As the years went by, the ship became seedier by inches until at last even Burt’s engineering skills weren’t enough to keep the Vagabond in proper repair. They were delivering twenty tons of lumber to Paradise City, on Tarkan and everything seemed to be going fine—until the jump drive gave up the ghost. A few sparks, a bad smell, and then the automatic safety features slammed down like a hammer shutting the jump drive down for good.
There was nothing Burt could do. He’d nursed the old girl along for years, always hopeful the next cargo run would pay for the delicate and expensive components he needed, but that never happened.
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