Whiskey Romeo

by James Welsh

  Rego, who was among those crowded around the battery, turned and said with awe, “That was one of the more insane things I’ve ever seen.”

  “There’s no difference between insanity and genius,” Chroma said, his face cracking with a smile, as he repeated the last lesson his professor had taught him years before.

  ***

  As they were carting the battery across the face of the colony towards the dock, they encountered their next impossible problem: they needed a pilot.

  Joyce was the first to ask the question. “Who’s going to fly the launch?” Then, before anyone else had the chance to volunteered, Joyce said, “I’ll do it. I need to do it.”

  Avis shook her head. “No, I’m going to do it.”

  Joyce frowned. “I’m going to be frank with you. You think that just because you’re willing to sacrifice yourself that makes you qualified for this suicide run? Don’t forget that there’s a whole debris field out there that you’re going to have to dance through.”

  “What are you saying?” Avis asked.

  “I’m saying that, as great a pilot as you are, you never did well in avoiding obstacles. We can’t afford to have you die on your way to dying,” Joyce shrugged. Avis looked furious, but only because she knew that Joyce was right.

  Dart suddenly spoke up. “Well, we can’t have you go, Captain Joyce. What happens if we need to evacuate? We’ll need as many pilots as we can get.” Dart said this, not entirely convinced by his own argument, but too fond of Joyce to see her die.

  “Where’s Akilina at? Isn’t she going to try and talk her way into this mission?” Joyce asked.

  “No one knows where she’s at,” Avis said. “She disappeared after we got back from Harbor.”

  “So I’m the most qualified one here then…” Joyce began.

  “I’ll do it.”

  The pack of colonists turned to look at who was talking. It was Stratos, who was standing a few feet away from the others, his arms folded across his chest like armor. He repeated, “I’ll do it – I’ll fly the launch.”

  Joyce was skeptical. “You’re licensed to fly one?”

  “I am, across several of the launch classes. I used to tour the space stations back home in the solar system. Just because I’m a charter official doesn’t mean I’m afraid to get my hands dirty.” Stratos paused, and then added, “Besides, I’m just an auditor. If you all survive this, I’ll be useless to you. You don’t need me.”

  More than a few of the colonists were secretly glad that Stratos finally understood what they already knew. But on a deeper note, the auditor’s words were convincing, and almost everyone – even Joyce – realized that Stratos could be their savior. But while everyone’s hopes were rising, Nash could feel a gravity of fear growing inside of him. There was no escaping the truth – he had to accept it. Nash spoke up, “I’m coming with you, too.”

  The colonists looked at Nash curiously. Stratos said, “Thanks, David, but one man’s able to fly that launch. If you go, you’re sacrificing yourself for nothing.”

  “You’re going to need help, whether you want to admit it or not,” Nash insisted. “I’m not going to let you die alone. No one deserves that.”

  Stratos looked at Nash for a long moment before sighing. “Okay, but be careful for what you wish for.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Latch said. “We’ll prepare the launch tonight. We’ll outfit it with the battery, and you two will fly it out first thing in the morning. With any luck, you’ll save all of our lives by noon.”

  The colonists nodded in agreement and immediately started to work on readying the launch. There were already two launches hooked onto either side of the dock. The colonists wheeled out the battery through the hollow marrow of the dock and began work on connecting it between the two ships. As the colonists worked, Khunrath and Chroma put aside their egos – a first for each of the scientists – and together oversaw the installation of the marlin battery. Halfway through the installation, they found another problem: how to activate the battery at the gates of the black hole. For that, Khunrath enlisted the help of Puzzle to develop a radio transmitter for the battery.

  As the beehive of activity lived on through the night, Nash made it his mission to find Avis. He finally found her in one of the launches, going over a checklist to ensure that the launch was ready. Nash asked, somewhat nervously, “Pilot Thaden?”

  “Yes?” Avis said impatiently, not looking up from her checklist.

  “I was just wondering, if you have the time…”

  “I’m afraid I don’t. In fact, none of us have much time left if we don’t get these launches prepped,” she said acidly. It was obvious that she was still cold from her earlier talk with Joyce, where the chief pilot had turned down her offer to fly the launch.

  Nash took a breath. “I need you to show me how to fly this launch.”

  “Why should I bother? Your friend says he’s licensed. It’d be pointless to teach you how to fly.”

  “I know he says he’s qualified – it’s just that…” Nash began. But then, not knowing how to explain it, he simply said, “Trust me, you’re going to want to teach me how to fly.”

  At this, Avis finally set down her checklist and looked Nash in the eye. “What are you saying? Why don’t you trust your friend with the controls? Do you know something that I don’t?”

  Realizing that he had aroused her suspicions, Nash said, almost frantically, “You have to trust me.”

  ‘Why should I trust you? We barely trust your auditor friend with saving our lives.”

  “Pilot Joyce won’t let you fly the launch and why? Because she thinks you’re not up to the task,” Nash pointed out. “Show me what you know, and we’ll prove her wrong together.”

  He said this with so much passion in his voice, he knew that she would have no choice but to believe him. Still, Avis looked at him in silence for a few moments too long for Nash’s comfort. But finally, she said, “I’ll show you what I know. We might as well have a backup pilot in case your friend isn’t up to the task.”

  “Thank you.”

  ***

  The next morning came quickly, and yet somehow they were done in time. The launches were fused together on the dock, with the marlin battery stowed safely between the ships. Before the two saviors had board the launch, Puzzle met with them. Handing Stratos a remote, Puzzle said, “You’re going to need this to activate the battery.”

  “Is it really as simple as it looks?” Stratos asked, turning the remote over in his hands. It was little more than a handheld control with a few buttons and a dial.

  “It looks simple, but don’t be fooled,” Puzzle said. “I’ve used this device before to run diagnostics on our buoys from tens of thousands of miles away. I’ve made a few adjustments on it so that it runs on the same frequency as the battery. Press the green button on the right to start up the signal. Then, you need to hold down the red button on the left – that’s the failsafe – while you turn the dial. The more you turn the dial clockwise, the more powerful the battery. I was able to add a delay to the transmitter, so you have approximately four seconds from using the radio to the battery actually receiving the signal…”

  “You can do that?” Nash asked, surprised.

  Puzzle smiled a little. “I can do that.” He then turned serious. “It’s not just about me showing off. We don’t want the battery to…well, you know.”

  Nash did know. While they had to throttle the battery to its maximum in order to destroy the black hole, even turning the dial a tiny bit would be enough for the battery to turn lethal. If there was no delay on the signal, the battery’s gravity would crush them before they even turned the dial to its stopping point.

  “Would the transmitter still work with the radio interference from the black hole?” Stratos asked.

  Puzzle nodded. “It will, but only from a very short distance. Any transmission that’s more than just a few feet away will get overwhelmed by the black hole’s radio outbursts.”
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  “And remember what I told you earlier,” Khunrath interrupted. “You’re going to blast the battery just as you’re knocking on the event horizon. If you wait too long, you guys and the battery will get broken down to nothing. If you get trigger-happy too soon, we’re going to have two black holes to worry about instead of one.”

  “And you honestly think this will work?” Stratos asked, skeptical.

  “It’ll work – my computer says it will,” Khunrath said brightly. “Do what other people can’t – have faith in a machine.”

  Stratos nodded and turned to Nash. “Are you ready?”

  Nash nodded, and together the men boarded the fused launch. As they took their seats and Stratos started up the engine, Nash could feel the heavy air of disappointment resting in his lungs. There was only one thing he had to do before they left, and in their rush, he just didn’t get the chance. He was afraid now that he was going to lose it, just when he needed it most.

  But that was when Nash looked through the window and saw her. Across the dock and through the water shield, Nash could see Chaser standing with the rest of the colonists. Even with every colonist there, all of them caged behind the shimmering water, Nash still spotted her immediately. And even from a distance, he could see that she was smiling, and he knew the soft smile was for him.

  And even as Stratos throttled the engine and the fused launch lifted out of the pit, Chaser’s smile stayed with the young man. And that was when Nash realized that he could never lose his bravery – he would have to lose Chaser first. As the launch rocketed from the planet and into the death of space, Nash knew that he was going to need that courage now more than ever.

  INTERMISSION D

  2199AD

  The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was antiseptic white.

  The snow was so bright, he blinked his eyes and twisted his head away. But no matter where he looked, the whole world was dripping in winter colors. Nash brought his hand up to his face, so to rub his eyes. As he did, he winced as he felt something with teeth latched onto his arm. He looked down to see a tube with a needle jammed into the vein in his elbow.

  Nash tried to call out, but the only word he could speak was a dry and haunted gasp, like wind through the branches. Just then, a face dove out of the clouds – it was a woman, and for a second he thought it was Zara. And this made him wonder if he had died.

  But the face spoke and it became someone else entirely. The woman actually had a thin face, strained of the life that was in Zara’s cheeks. And while Zara’s hair was a rich vein of coal, this woman had hair as light and wispy as straw.

  “…I said can you hear me, Mr. Nash?” The face asked, boredom in her voice.

  Nash nodded slowly. The face vanished for a moment before returning with what looked like a water bottle. She fed a straw between Nash’s lips and made him drink. He choked on the first gulp of water, but the woman forced him to drink the rest of the bottle.

  “Now, you stay right there,” the woman ordered dryly. The flicker of thought deep inside Nash’s mind wondered if that was supposed to be a joke.

  The voice left, and that spark of mind grew brighter. He was unearthing memories, a past that should have stayed buried. He remembered now the apartment he kept with Zara in the city, the slavery in the tunnels, the bottle of pill brandy…

  But he was alive – the pain proved that much. Nash didn’t know how he was alive, though – the brandy alone should have destroyed him. And where was he? He certainly wasn’t in the medical ward at the Storia compound: he had been in that ward before, and the ward was dark and bitter like potato roots. He almost wanted to say that he was in one of the hospitals in the city. He had never seen a hospital room outside of stories he had heard, but he figured that this was it.

  After what felt like hours but was barely a minute, another face peered over the cliffs of his sight. This face was pudgy, with a mustache that was a deep shade of copper. This face was smiling, although Nash wished it wasn’t: several teeth were missing, and those left behind were yellow like jaundice.

  “Mr. Nash, welcome back to the living. My name is Blaine Gamboge, and I am a charter official.”

  Who isn’t a charter official these days? Nash thought.

  Gamboge seemed to sense this as well, because he added, “I’m with our investigations division. I am a busy man, Mr. Nash – do you know why I would be sitting outside of your hospital room for hours, waiting for you to wake up?”

  Nash gave a weak shrug.

  “No? Well, maybe this will trigger something. A few months ago, we began investigating claims that your master, Mr. Storia, had been involved in importing weapons. Allegedly, he was bringing weapons through his port, and then sending them by subway into the city. Why he would do this, I have no idea, although the evidence points to him trying to organize a rebellion inside of the city. And you know what the charter does with traitors, don’t you, Mr. Nash? A firing squad paints the wall red with them, using their guns as paintbrushes.”

  Nash was calm on the outside but shocked inside. Never, in all of his time either as a freedman or a servant, had he suspected Storia of being anything other than a miserable soul. He didn’t care about revolution – to him, the only thing that mattered was money. Not only that, but Storia had connections with charter officials, powerful ones at that. What did he do to deserve that twist of fate? Whatever the reason, no matter how curious he was, Nash knew that he couldn’t ask why. He had to let Storia drown without getting pulled down into the abyss as well. Nash didn’t see this as hypocrisy, as much as he wanted to save mankind, one soul at a time. Storia wasn’t man but monster.

  Not being able to read a confession in Nash’s eyes, Gamboge continued, “Just a few weeks ago, we launched a raid of Storia’s estate. We took him into custody and confiscated all of his property, and that includes you. We found you by your tracker in the tunnels. You were nearly dead when we found you, swimming in a pool of your sick. They had to induce a coma in you to keep you alive. And we’ve been waiting patiently – very patiently – these past weeks for you to wake up, and for good reason too.”

  Gamboge paused.

  “You know, a few years back, I was investigating a man involved in human trafficking. I had some evidence, but not enough to bring him down. And so I tried something difference – I put out rumors that I had all the proof I needed, and that an arrest was coming soon. I wanted to see what the man would do if he thought he was cornered. And he did something, alright: he put a bullet in his head. But you see, he was so nervous, the barrel slipped and he blew out the left side of his face: his cheek, ear, eye, everything. And you know what we did? We patched him up, forced a confession out of him, and now he is serving a life sentence of hard labor. And you know what the moral of this story is? A man who tries to commit suicide has something to hide. What are you trying to hide, Mr. Nash? What do you know of Storia’s crimes?”

  Nash was silent.

  Gamboge looked frustrated. “Like I told you before, when the charter confiscated Storia’s property, we confiscated you. We can do with you whatever we please. We can break every bone in your body, we can throw you against the wall and shoot you, we can exile you to the glass lands, or we can shoot you into outer space. You mean nothing to us – if we break you, we can just drag in another lost soul off the streets. You’re all alike. But, if you tell us what we want to know, we can be merciful. We have been known to be merciful.”

  And still Nash stayed quiet. It wasn’t just because he saw the chance at freedom as being a mirage. He wasn’t going to play along with the charter man’s game. He wasn’t going to jump when he told him to jump. Nash was not going to let Gamboge and the charter break him down into pawns in chess.

  Gamboge’s face hardened. “Fine, if that’s the way you want to be. You know the Volans colony, where they mine that star for energy? They just had an accident there and lost a few of their miners. On the charter’s orders, you’re going there as a replacement miner, for a se
ntence of thirty years. It’ll give you a lot of time to reflect on the mistake you’ve just made.”

  Nash’s eyes opened wide at this. Gamboge noticed and laughed. “Are you actually afraid? Is it because you think you’re too weak for a lifetime of mining? Don’t worry – with a mind as soft as yours, it shouldn’t be too hard to mold you into something you’re not.”

  CHAPTER 12

  As the fused launch rocketed towards Hellmouth, the quiet of outer space was contagious. Since the moment they had lifted out of the pit and lunged off the planet, neither Nash nor Stratos had said a single word. As the men sat with the friction of silence between them, Nash looked at the black hole beyond the glass like a piece of art back in his old gallery.

  Nash remembered the most famous work of art in the gallery: graffiti on the walls of the building. For most of the city, this was the only art they ever saw from the gallery, passing by the scarred walls on their way to work in the mornings. When the neighborhood heard what Nash was trying to achieve – reminding people of the good they could forge – they wanted to remind him of humanity’s depths. And so they plastered the wall with images of people shooting and stabbing one another, every scene drenched in the blood of red paint. And every time the mischievous painted the walls – and they did so often – Nash could be found the next morning, scrubbing the paint off. And at the end of the cleaning, he would look down at his hands and see the skin wrinkled and rubbed raw, and he saw hands as beautiful as the art inside of the gallery.

  As he looked over at Stratos, Nash squeezed his hands into fists, the canvas skin tightening, the watercolor blood flowing, as he realized that he was going to use his hands for good one last time. After hesitating a few times, Nash finally said, “I know what you did – I just don’t know why you did it.”