by Jim Laughter
Delmar stored his scrub brush and pail in a storage locker and walked slowly along the corridor to the captain’s cabin, certain the authorities would be waiting to take him into custody once they landed on the planet below.
“Come in,” the skipper’s rough voice resounded through the door. Delmar entered the small cabin and closed the door behind him. Trembling, he stood silent for a moment until the captain motioned for him to sit in a chair opposite his own.
“How’s that cut on your forehead, son?” the skipper asked. “Cook taking care of it alright?”
“Yes sir,” Delmar answered. He reached up and stroked the tender wound. He was sure it was going to leave a scar, but he had a feeling the injury wasn’t really what the skipper wanted to talk about.
“Good,” the skipper said, leaning forward. “Delmar, I want to talk with you.” Delmar’s fear must have shown on his face. The captain leaned back in his chair and smiled at the young man.
“Relax, you’re not in trouble. And you’re still safe, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Delmar relaxed a little but still felt apprehensive.
“The reason I had Preston send you down is I think it’s time you and I discuss what your plans are once we reach Mica.”
Delmar was taken aback by the captain’s comment. He had grown so accustomed to life aboard ship that he’d forgotten there could be anything else. To think about possible changes when they made planet-fall reintroduced uncertainty into his life.
“I hadn’t really thought much about it, sir,” Delmar finally answered.
“Well, you better,” replied the skipper. “Once we unload, we’re going to have to put the ship in for some extensive repairs and I’m not going to need extra crew.”
Delmar didn’t answer. He assumed after their encounter with the Red-tail and his performance at the communications console, he would automatically stay on as a member of the Malibu’s crew.
“You’re a hard worker, Delmar, so you won’t have trouble finding work.”
The prospect that his tenure on the ship was definitely going to end shocked the boy and his face telegraphed it. “But I thought I’d stay on, especially after our run-in with the Red-tail.”
“Don’t worry, son. You did real well,” the skipper said. “I’ll arrange some leads for you with a few friends of mine when we reach Mica. There’s always a need for good workers. Of course, don’t be looking for a berth as a comm operator. Those jobs are already filled.”
Delmar pushed slowly up out of the chair and turned to leave but the skipper stopped him. “You understand that I can’t afford to keep you on, don’t you, son?” he asked. “When we dropped our cargo, we lost our shipping fee. And it’s going to be a long, expensive stay on Mica to get his old tub back into space.”
“Uh... yes sir. I understand, sir.” Delmar answered. “And thanks again for helping me when I needed it.”
“No problem,” answered the skipper. “I shipped out when I was a kid too. Just one thing though, Delmar.”
“Yes sir?”
“When you get to port, be careful,” the skipper advised. “There are all sorts of people in spaceports. Most are legitimate and you’ll find a good berth with them. However, others are pirates and use strong-arm tactics to recruit young men such as you. They’ll take you on as crew and you’ll never be heard from again.”
“Pirates, sir?” Delmar asked. “In the Axia?”
“They’re Galactic Axia citizens, most of them,” answered the skipper. “But mostly they’re old independent spacers that have no loyalty either way. They trade in whatever commodity they can, even human flesh.”
“Slavery, Skipper?” Delmar asked, astonished.
“More like groceries,” the skipper answered. “They sell human flesh to anyone or anything that will buy it.”
The thought of an uncertain future on a strange planet scared the boy, and he didn’t want to run into any pirates. “Thank you, sir.”
The skipper nodded at him and then returned to his books. He had to figure out how to make up for the load he had lost fighting the Red-tail.
Delmar let himself out and returned to the cargo bay and retrieved his bucket and brush and continued scrubbing, his mind again filled with terrifying images of uncertainty.
∞∞∞
The mood in the Hassel farmhouse was glum as the three adults sat in silence. Pushing aside his near-empty coffee cup, Mike leaned back in his chair and looked at the couple.
“So that’s the whole of it,” he said sadly. “Except for minor signs, we’ve found no trace of the boy anywhere since they brought back the stuff from the cave.”
Robert just looked at him for a moment and then his face brightened with an idea. “If we haven’t found Delmar, then obviously he’s alive.” He paused and took a sip of lukewarm coffee. He couldn’t imagine where on the planet the boy could be hiding that even a planet-wide alert hadn’t been able to find him. They’d even checked with his old unit, the 653rd, at Jasper Station to see if Delmar had approached them for help.
“An old space investigator once told me that if you eliminate all the possibilities, whatever is left, regardless how unlikely, must be the answer.”
He took another sip of coffee. “If we eliminate all the possibilities of him being on Erdinata, there remains only one other place he can be.”
“Space!” exclaimed Agnes, finishing her husband’s thought.
“We covered the space fields as a matter of routine, so if he’s out there, someone had to help him,” Mike replied. “We know it wasn’t any of the fleet, or I would have heard.”
“That leaves only the independent freighters and passenger ships,” Agnes said.
“We know it couldn’t be a passenger ship since Delmar had no money, that is unless he stowed away, which I doubt,” Robert said. “He must have shipped out on a freighter.”
“It’s been over two weeks. There are a lot of ships to check up on,” Mike said. “I’ll get some people on it.”
With that, they all rose and the couple saw Mike to his ground car and watched it disappear into a cloud of dust. Robert looked up into the star-studded night. Two weeks was a long head-start when traveling through space. He knew there were hundreds of planets within easy reach of a freighter, especially an independent that didn’t have a set routine.
“It’s going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Chapter Nine
At that moment, the needle in question had just descended the ramp of the Malibu and was headed through the gate off the field. He carried a small duffel bag in his right hand that contained everything he owned. In his left hand was a short list of people the skipper had recommended for Delmar to see.
The sudden change from living in an enclosed space with only a few other people to the crowds of the spaceport was overwhelming to the young man. The sounds of the spaceport were confusing and frightening, and the noises and hustle and bustle of the freighters, transport ships, and military shuttlecraft added to Delmar’s anxiety.
His flight out from Erdinata on the old freighter had been his first time in space. Now he found himself alone on an alien planet. He didn’t know anyone except Cargo Master Preston and the skipper back on the Malibu. Suddenly, running from the authorities didn’t seem like such a good idea.
Delmar threw his duffle bag over his shoulder and pushed his way through the crowd. He had never seen such a mix of humanity, nor heard many of the languages being spoken. He paused for a moment beside a ground vehicle and listened to the conversation taking place between the driver and a prospective passenger. There seemed to be some dispute over the fare but the boy could not understand a single word they said.
With conscience deference, Delmar walked along the breezeway of the spaceport. He figured the port was located outside of Mica City, the largest population center on the planet. At least, that was true of Jasper Station back on Erdinata. If this held true, he would have a long walk ahead of him. He decided not to tak
e the public transportation but instead to save his limited funds.
“No need getting anywhere quick,” he reasoned aloud. “I don’t know where I’m going or anyone to see when I get there.”
Delmar studied the short list of names the skipper had given him, so he decided to look up a few of them in hopes of securing an immediate berth. The cook onboard the freighter had insisted Delmar eat a good meal before leaving the ship, so he knew he could save the expense of at least one meal, maybe two.
Turning in at an open gate, Delmar spotted what appeared to be an operations building. He knew he had to avoid the civil and Axia authorities. He had the list of names the skipper had given him so he hoped he could locate a few of the freighter captains at the flightline cafeteria. If he were lucky, he would have a job by the end of the day. If not, it was going to be a long, cold night.
The cafeteria proved to be little more than a large open-air gazebo with tables and vending machines. It didn’t take Delmar long to realize he’d have very little luck here. He did spot one grizzly old character that looked like he’d spent fifty years in deep space. His hair was long and unkempt, his dirty coverall uniform was torn in several places, and Delmar thought he could smell the pungent aroma of pigs.
The old man spotted Delmar about the same time and motioned for him to come to his table. Delmar shook his head and started toward the exit. Before he realized it, the old man was at his side, his rough hand firmly gripping his elbow.
“Ya lookin' fer passage to the outer planets, sonny?” the old man asked. “I’m haulin’ me a load’a hogs, and I could sure use a strong young buck like you to swab out the pens.”
The foul odor emanating from the old man was nauseating. Delmar twisted right and left, trying to break the vice-like grip of the old man.
“What’cha fightin' fer, boy? I’m offerin' ya gainful employment.”
“Just leave me alone!” Delmar exclaimed. “And turn loose of my arm.”
He twisted again but still could not break the powerful grip of the old spacer.
A voice from behind Delmar startled him. “What’s going on here?” Delmar spun around just as the old man released the grip on his arm. Delmar stumbled and fell to the floor.
“Nothin' Captain,” the old man said, taking a step back away from Delmar.
Standing only a few feet from Delmar and towering over him like a giant tree was a man unlike any Delmar had ever seen before. He was at least eight feet tall and Delmar guessed he weighed at least three hundred pounds. There did not appear to be an ounce of fat on the man.
Delmar still lay on the floor peering up at the giant. He wore the blue uniform of the Mica Civil Patrol. A heavy wooden baton swung from a leather strap around the giant’s right wrist. “You alright, boy?”
“Yes sir,” Delmar croaked. “This man grabbed me and wouldn’t let go.”
“Zeke?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“What have I told you about strong-arm recruiting in this port?”
“But Captain, sir,” Zeke sputtered. “I was just offerin' the boy a legitimate job.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me,” the guard said. “Now you get your things and get out of here before I run you in.”
“Yes'sir, Captain,” the old spacer answered. He then turned to Delmar and leered down at him with menacing eyes. “I’ll see you 'round, boy,” he said, then turned and walked away, leaving Delmar in the presence of the Mican giant.
Delmar pushed himself up from the floor and turned to leave but the guard placed his enormous hand on Delmar’s shoulder. “Hang on there a minute, young fella,” the guard said. “You here in port alone?”
“Yes sir,” Delmar answered. “I just shipped in on the freighter Malibu but they’re laying over for repairs, so I’m just starting to look for another berth.”
“How old are you, boy?” The giant did not seem impressed or convinced by Delmar’s story.
“Eighteen, sir.”
“You in some kind of trouble?” the guard asked, seemingly fully aware that Delmar was on the run.
At just that moment, a commotion outside caught the giant’s attention. He turned to get a better look at what appeared to be two kids scuffling on the ground, losing sight of Delmar for just a second. Delmar took advantage of the disturbance and took off running through the cafeteria and out onto the tarmac.
“Hey you! Boy! Stop!” the guard yelled after Delmar. But Delmar didn’t look back. Instead, he darted back through the open gate and out onto the breezeway where he had been earlier. He looked up and down the street and decided to follow the general flow of outbound traffic.
Several hours passed and Delmar was still walking toward what he hoped was a population center. His last meal had long since digested and he could feel the grumblings of hunger churning on his insides.
The Mican sun hung low in the western sky. Delmar looked around to see if he could find a shelter of any kind. He was standing at the edge of a large field of what appeared to be some kind of grain he did not recognize.
A low structure that Delmar assumed was an equipment shed stood two or three hundred yards away in the field. Although it went against everything Delmar believed in, he decided to break into the shed and spend the night out of the elements. He walked carefully through the field, making sure he stayed between the rows so he wouldn’t damage any of the grain. He remembered how Mr. Hassel hated it when anyone would cut across his fields and trample his crop. I wonder what’s he’s doing right now?
Delmar found a piece of iron beside the shed which he used to pry the hinge off the door and let himself in. The shed was eerie but dry. A piece of farm equipment that resembled a tractor and a scattering of farm tools was the only thing in the shed. Delmar had just never seen a tractor with two engines and eight wheels before.
A low wattage light bulb hung from an exposed wire in the middle of the shed. Delmar stood on the fender of the tractor and cupped his hands around the bulb, trying to capture as much of its feeble heat as possible.
The floor of the shed was hard-packed topsoil and there was no hay or anything else on which to lie down. Delmar unrolled his sleeping bag; the same one Mr. Hassel had smuggled to him in the cave so long ago, and found a corner in which to sleep.
He lay on the floor of the equipment shed and tried in vain to justify his situation. Eighteen years old and a fugitive, he thought. But what crime have I committed? Why do I have to run?
“I’m not a criminal,” he spoke aloud to himself. “I’m an orphan. Is that a crime? Why are the authorities after me? And why did Axia ships attack the Hassel farm?”
Delmar lay with his arm across his eyes and wept. Were the Hassels still alive? Have they been arrested and are sitting jail because of me?
Sleep was a long time coming for Delmar that night. He knew he couldn’t go back to the spaceport. The Mican guard had surely put out an alert for him by now. He didn’t know anyone in town or even on the planet except the crew from the Malibu, and he could not go back there. He lay in the equipment shed, alone and forsaken by everyone he knew and silently wept himself to sleep.
The morning Mica sun filtered in through the cracks in the slat walls of the equipment shed. Delmar sat up and tried to stretch the kinks from his back. He missed his comfortable bunk on the Malibu, and even the mop he had grown so accustomed to using every day. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood and rolled his sleeping bag into a tight bundle and stored it in his duffle bag.
Not wanting to draw any attention to himself, Delmar pushed the shed door open only a crack. He peered out cautiously, and not seeing anyone around, stepped out into the cool morning air. He tried to reattach the hinge he had broken off last night but the hole was completely stripped out. An audible growl from his stomach reminded him that he would need to find nourishment soon.
Delmar walked back across the field to the road he had been on the evening before. Traffic was light but no one stopped to pick him up. He used his right
hand as a visor against the bright morning sun and looked to the east. Rising up from the ground only a few miles away was the first signs of the population center he had been heading for. The failing light had prevented him from seeing the buildings last night.
“I’ll find something to eat there,” Delmar said to himself. “Maybe even a job and a place to stay for a while.”
Delmar threw his duffle bag over his shoulder again and started walking at a brisk pace toward the town in the distance. The closer he got, the larger the buildings looked.
It only took a couple of hours before Delmar found himself on the outskirts of a busy population center. He wondered around the streets of the city for what seemed like an eternity. A day and a night passed, then another and another. Every corner he turned lead to dead ends and locked doors. He went from business to business asking for work and lodging but met with rebuff at every turn.
He soon came to realize that these people were accustomed to drifters from the spaceport seeking shelter and employment in their establishments. He wondered how many times help had been offered, only to have the kindness returned by being robbed or taken advantage of. So, instead of finding employment and lodging, Delmar slept in whatever vacant corner he could find. A week passed very slowly.
Delmar had lost track of the days while roaming the streets. He found himself stranded in an alien city on a Sabbath day of the planet. Most of the businesses were closed or would open later in the day. His meager earnings were dwindling fast, his clothes were filthy, and he was in terrible need of a bath. He was alone and afraid and desperately in need of someone to talk to.
Something inside of him screamed for him to run, and he nearly did as a cold sweat trickled down his back. But he had nowhere to run to. He had no idea of how far he had walked and he knew he could never find his way back to the spaceport now even if he wanted to. He wanted to return to the Malibu and beg the skipper to take him back. He’d work for free. He’d scrub floors and carry cargo; anything to once again have feel the safe confines of the ship around him.