Black Hull

by Joseph A. Turkot

  “In thirty-nine eighty-six, Utopia was discovered. And so it’s fourteen years since then.”

  “A gift from the past?”

  “You’re damned right, a gift from the past. To everyone but me.”

  Mick handed Carner his mug. “Thanks.”

  17

  “What now?” Mick said over sludge stew.

  “Now is relative, and what is an adverb at times,” XJ said.

  “GR is Givering, and Givering is GR,” said GR. He quizzically looked at XJ. “Should I accept a malware if it invades my pleasure receptors and makes them feel good?” he asked.

  “Of course not!” XJ chided.

  Sera looked up at the fussing droids.

  “I’m getting tired of this slop. I think we should open the stores again.”

  “Sera, let me,” XJ offered, forgetting GR’s conundrum.

  “Get macaroni and cheese. And apple juice.”

  “I’m on my way,” he replied. GR followed him out to the pantry.

  “What now,” Mick repeated.

  “We drop you off and part ways,” Sera said coldly.

  “At the T-jump?”

  “Yup.”

  “How long?”

  “Couple days.”

  “And how long after until you’ll reach Utopia?”

  “I don’t know. Could be a month. I’ve got to stop off to do dad’s transfer.”

  “Who’ll do that?”

  “Cheapest? A droid on the West Rail Sector.”

  “How do you know what you know about Utopia anyway?”

  “News channels,” she replied. “I’ve never met someone who’s been inside, because no one would leave.”

  “Are you allowed to leave if you want?”

  “You don’t get the concept yet do you? In Utopia, all spacetime is unlocked. Complete access to every and any universe history. Time, location, people, events—they exist as a result of your desire. Combine that with an expancapacitor rig, and you might begin to understand why no one is T-jumping.”

  “But you’re planning to enter without an expancapacitor rig, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll get one on the inside.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t worry about it. What do you care anyway?”

  “Why not T-jump to steal money? Intercept trade runs, gamble?”

  “Some do. But M82 is a no jump galaxy, so it’s about impossible for us. They come from galaxies on the fringe, where the plant system hasn’t been activated yet. I’m a bandit, but no T-jump criminal. We stay away from quantum crimes. The stakes are too high.”

  “Why don’t you have a taint?” Mick asked.

  “What?”

  “Carner can’t get in because he’s a felon. And you’re not?”

  “I’ve never been caught.”

  “You always work alone?”

  “That’s why I’m not tainted. If you hadn’t wormholed into M82, I’d have been working alone for a long time before I had enough to get us in, even if I took good loads consistently for the next ten years. But the hits never are consistent.”

  “Pirating?”

  “What sort of business do you think I run out of Bessel 2, home goods?”

  “Hadn’t thought of it. Ore, maybe.”

  “Ore’s dry in this system. Magnadraw and Hoila was plucked clean centuries ago.”

  “So you’re unmarked, no record. Mine’s what put me into space, got me into this mess in the first place.”

  “Do you have any idea how many people I’ve killed?”

  “No,” Mick replied. Have I killed two now, or do droids not count?

  Sera’s eyes rose, her mind mixed in memory.

  “Well neither do I. But every one of them was a cock-sucking bureaucrat. I’ve got to work out. Carner stresses me out.”

  “You have a gym on board?”

  “It’s nice enough,” she answered. “Don’t be afraid of it. I go stir crazy in space with just XJ and GR if I don’t exercise.”

  Was that a smile? Ice to flame.

  XJ returned and put on macaroni and cheese. Sera left to work up another appetite in the Cozon’s gym. Mick reflected upon his last few days in the year fourteen: I’ve only killed one man. What’s she going to do? Go to Utopia, fix her brother and her father, and sit in eternal bliss? Sounds like a boring story. I want to see my boys. Karen. Ol’ Selby. He’s a good dog. He’ll be there again. Lots of kisses for me.

  18

  Mick stepped into a wide blue room filled with bronze bars and weights. Sera squatted, thrust her butt, then lunged forward. Mick let her finish a set then walked over.

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Why so curious all of the sudden?” she replied.

  “Never mind then.”

  “Seventy-eight.”

  That doesn’t add up at all. Maybe she is a cellbot?

  “Do you know what the life-expectancy is now?” she asked, picking up a dumbbell, sensing his confusion.

  “No clue. Was one hundred and eleven where I’m from.”

  “Try one hundred and ninety,” she said. Mick watched her pump the plastimetal rod—he would have guessed forty.

  “Spar?” she said, dropping the weight.

  “What?”

  “Spar—or don’t you want to eat macaroni and cheese with me?”

  “I’m not going to fight a woman,” Mick said. He remembered hitting his ex-wife. She’d recoiled in horror, shame, and fear. She’d looked like a wet, scared dog before an executioner. He’d made himself a stranger to her.

  She deserved it. She cheated on me.

  “Would you be able to tell the difference anyway, if I wasn’t a woman? Come on you wuss. Is that insult old enough to get your blood moving?” she taunted.

  “Wuss?” Mick watched her take a defensive stance in front of him, her silver leotard catching the red light of the gym, shading her thin, braided muscles.

  “You’ll have to stop me then,” she said. Without warning, she dove, sliding directly between Mick’s legs. Before he could react, she had gripped behind his knees and thrust forward, toppling him to the ground. In an instant, she had slid her butt over his torso and locked him up.

  “That’s all you’ve got?” she said, then stood up. “Try again, you can do better.”

  “I’m not dressed for this,” Mick said, confused as to whether she’d turned him on or pissed him off.

  “Take off the damned jacket,” she ordered.

  Fuck it. I’m here right now, aren’t I? It’s fourteen. None of this will ever have happened.

  Mick threw his jacket against the wall. His white tank-top painted powerful muscles of his own, strength bulging in agitation.

  “You’re not going to cry over this, or kill me in my sleep later, are you?” Mick asked.

  “You won’t get much sleep,” she said, and started in. They locked hands and worked for inside position. Sera curled his wrist in, drew herself under his chest, and pushed her lower back into his abdomen—Mick flew up, twisted, and slammed into the mat.

  “Okay, I’ll give you some credit. I was holding back,” he said.

  “I’ll bet,” she replied, her smile disappearing as she readied to move in again. Mick sprawled as she shot for his legs. Quickly, he rotated on her back, locked her in a full nelson, and cranked her neck to the ground.

  “Ow!” she screamed. Mick jumped up, releasing her in fear.

  “Sorry.”

  “Why’d you let up? I was about to break it.”

  “Really?” Mick smiled. “Didn’t sound that way.” He was enjoying himself for the first time since he’d woken on the pod. No—that was a lie: he was enjoying himself for the first time since before he’d found out about Karen and him.

  “Try again then,” he said.

  She rushed in, attempting the same move as before, shooting for both of his legs. Mick sprawled again and spun around to her back. Before he could lock his full nelson, she grabbed his wrists and rolled to her side.
Her body mowed him to the mat beneath her, and she dug her chin into his ribs. She twisted up, dug her arm into his neck and squeezed.

  Really? She’s this strong? She looked solid, but this is unbelievable.

  Mick struggled for a moment, collecting his last bit of air. Fuzziness rolled over him, circulation to his brain slowing. His thoughts quieted. In a last-ditch effort to upheave her, Mick dug his butt into the mat and pushed his pelvis up. Sera’s grip started to loosen.

  “Sera!” XJ called in alarm. Mick and Sera went limp, releasing each other, sliding on sweat.

  “What is it XJ?”

  “Macaroni is ready!”

  19

  The West Rail Sector snaked along the rim of the Bessel system, a string of green moons orbiting two dueling brown worlds. Sera brought the Cozon into the atmosphere of one of the greenest satellites, and soon its thick air dispersed around the driving head of the ship.

  Mick stepped out after XJ, GR, and Sera.

  This place is cold. A green ice world. Jade frost. Grass of snow. I walk before the goddess of fire and ice, toward my destiny. A place F.R.I.N.G.E. could have never hoped to reach: M82: an impossibility. Who’d have thought the unknown radio signal was a cue—line up, come one, come all, for heaven is realized. There is nothing beautiful about her—but there is something different.

  A vision of Karen flashed into Mick’s head—his confusion stirred and settled into blind footsteps leading him to a decision he could not deny. His heart had its place. That place no longer existed in the here and now, and so he would have to go.

  Green snow crunched underfoot. Condensation fogged their helm glass. A bloated droid approached them, glistening with green icicles.

  “Sera, XJ, GR, good to see you!” he greeted. “Come in, out of this weather.” The iced robot led them into an igloo-shaped mound of gunmetal steel. They traveled down to a long room and sat, discussing their transaction. “So, what’ll it be today?”

  “A T-jump for him,” Sera said.

  “Nice to meet you sir. I am Melbot.”

  “Can you get me home, Melbot?” Mick asked.

  “I can get you wherever you wish to go, but if you mistake your designated spacetime location, I am not liable for your death. I’ll need to prime the T-jumper. You can’t expect same-day service on something like this.”

  “What’ll it be, Mel?” Sera asked.

  “Ten thousand for a T-jump.”

  “Ten thousand?”

  “Sorry, the price has gone up. Demand is rising again. Something to do with a new Utopia ordinance.”

  Sera sighed, calculating how much money would remain.

  “Looks like we’ll be working a bit longer,” she told her droid relatives.

  “Labor is my primary function—we’ll get along just fine,” GR said. “For I am a workhorse android, primed and fit for duty.”

  “You are quite the opposite, GR—a dock-loading droid. Your specifications state: No greater loads than three hundred kilograms,” XJ replied.

  “How long then?” Sera asked.

  “A day. Just a day,” said Melbot.

  A day on this ice-world. Purgatory.

  “Alright. Get to work. Call when it’s ready,” Sera said. She turned to head back to the Cozon.

  “Do you mind if I stay, Sera? I want to watch him work,” XJ asked.

  “Yea, stay. Learn how to work the god damned thing. Maybe we won’t have to shell out ten thousand for it next time,” she muttered, heading up to the frozen neon ice.

  “Me too then,” said GR.

  “Why not.”

  Mick watched the droids follow Melbot into his engineering chamber, then went to track Sera down.

  “More than you thought?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I can make up the five in no time.”

  “Good to hear that. I sympathize with you, you know—my plight’s not much different than yours.”

  “Really, how so?”

  “Getting to be with our families again.”

  “Hah,” she replied.

  “What?”

  The Cozon hull bay doors opened and closed. A rush of heat enveloped them, sealing the harsh icy wind out.

  “You’ve a warm wife you’ll return to, don’t you?”

  She’s jealous. She has no one. But if Utopia matches their belief of it, she’ll have whomever she wants. So why the self-pity?

  “Yea, I do.”

  “So it’s not so similar then,” she said. “I’m going to the pilot house, I have to plot our course to Utopia.”

  “I’ll be in the bed quarters.”

  “Sure,” grumbled Sera, power walking away.

  Christopher would love this ship. What a beauty. I ought to bring back some pictures—pictures from the future.

  Mick wandered off to find a camera.

  20

  “Christopher come here,” Mick said.

  “Hey Dad,” Christopher answered.

  “I have to go away for a while.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s business. Your mother will tell you more about it. I’m doing it so we can spend more time together later.”

  “Why don’t you stay home now, stay with us?”

  “I can’t. Something happened.”

  “What?”

  “Your mommy and me—I did something I shouldn’t have. I have to fix it.”

  “Are you leaving us? Are you getting a divorce?”

  Chilled silence paralyzed the room.

  We will be. The papers will probably get served as I’m shooting through in the Oort Cloud.

  “Yes,” Mick answered.

  Christopher looked away and started to sob. Thin, trembling gasps came at first, attempts to push away that which he could not understand. Despite his confusion, the pain that gnawed at his gut throbbed clearly.

  “Don’t you love mommy anymore?” asked Christopher, clinging tightly to his father’s arm. “And us?”

  “Of course I do, she did this. I mean, Chris, it’s no one’s fault. People make mistakes. She made one. I made one.”

  “But you said you’re going to fix it.”

  “As much of it as I can. Now listen—you look after your little brother. And your mother.”

  Christopher squeezed tighter, and Selby walked in, rubbing his nose into both of them, jealous of their closeness, licking them.

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I know. Trust me, god, I know. I’m doing this for you. And your brother. One day you’ll understand. I’ll be back. I love you.” There’ll be no keeping in touch on a black hull run. He’ll be out of high school when I see him next.

  Mick held his son until Karen appeared at the door, her eyes the sign that it was time to go. Anger mixed with guilt and sadness: together they drew him to his feet and pushed him away from the ones he loved more than anything in the universe.

  21

  Sera lay upon the sofa in her cabin. Her bare leg caught Mick’s eye as he passed her room.

  “What are you reading?” he asked, peering in. Her night gown clung to her like a wet sheet.

  “You wouldn’t know him.”

  “Try me,” Mick said. He took a step into the room.

  I might as well give it a shot. I’ll be gone. Never see her or this place again.

  “She was born fifty years ago,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “The author.”

  “Oh, I guess you’re right then.” So much for that. “Did you ever hear of Hart Crane?”

  “Crane?” she racked her memory. “No, just the bird.”

  “He wrote poetry, two thousand years ago.”

  “Hmm,” she moaned, returning to her book, uninterested.

  “Good night,” Mick said, giving up. He walked from her door.

  “What’s it like?” she asked.

  “What?” He stopped.

  “His poetry.”

  That’s it. I’m in.

  He froze, racked his memory, desperat
ely trying to recall a stanza he’d been forced to memorize. He returned, appearing again in her doorway.

  “He wrote one like this…” Mick said, pausing in thought, watching her. Sera lowered her legs from the end of the sofa, dropped them to the floor, squared herself to Mick. He closed his eyes before her drifting thighs.

  Concentrate you fuck up.

  Finally, a homework assignment from college, a thousand years ago, danced upon his tongue—he could recall but one stanza of the unnamed poem:

  “Above the fresh ruffles of the surf, bright striped urchins flay each other with sand. They have contrived a conquest for shell shucks, and their fingers crumble fragments of baked weed gaily digging and scattering. And in answer to their treble interjections the sun beats lightning on the waves, the waves fold thunder on the sand; and could they hear me I would tell them: O brilliant kids, frisk with your dog, fondle your shells and sticks, bleached by time and the elements; but there is a line you must not cross nor ever trust beyond it. Spry cordage of your bodies to caresses. Too lichen-faithful from too wide a breast. The bottom of the sea is cruel.”

  She eyed him in confusion.

  An A for effort.

  “What does it mean?” she finally said.

  “I have no idea. It’s about the ocean, I think.”

  “I’ve never seen a water ocean,” she said.

  “You should. They’re beautiful.” Mick waited for a cue.