“I’ll start over.” Deke said, his face dark. “Look at these deck plates.”
Robert looked down. Two meter square plates covered the floor. They sat in tracks, and looked like a giant chessboard painted all gray. Circular indentions and tiedown points covered the plates at regular intervals.
“Take that crowbar and pull up a plate. Clean the tracks, and remove any muck from inside.”
Robert processed his instructions. He looked down at the plate, then his eyes wandered across the cargo bay floor. There were a thousand plates, all waiting to be cleaned. Robert sighed.
A sneer curled around Deke’s lip. “The space under the plates on this side are only a meter deep. By the time you get to the far end, they will be almost three meters deep.”
Robert felt hollow. His eyes were dull black circles, his face was drawn.
Deke clapped him on the shoulder. “All right, enough dillydallying. These plates won’t clean themselves,” he said, cackling as he walked back to his card game.
Deke stopped and turned. “Oh, I almost forgot. Each one of those plates weighs about a hundred kilos, so be sure to lift with your legs. Safety first.” He laughed and walked on.
Robert felt the weight of his crowbar. It was heavy and nearly as tall as he was, with a curved lip on one end. He jammed the curved part between the deck plate and its track and heaved. Deke wasn’t kidding, it was heavy. He grunted as he levered the weight. It slowly started to move to one side. There was a slight whoosh of air.
The stench slapped Robert in the face. An acidic smell blended with rotten biologicals. He gagged and his eyes began to water. He dropped the crowbar. The metal clang echoed across the cargo bay. The raiders began laughing heartily, giving high fives and slapping each other on the back.
It struck Robert that he should be angry. They seemed well aware of what he would find under the deck plate, but he was too tired to be angry. Have I any pride left that all? He steeled himself and turned back to his work. He grabbed the corner of the thick plate and heaved it back, revealing space beneath. He could see several different colors of mold and slime. He tried to take short breaths through his mouth. He could taste the horrible odor on his tongue. His eyes continued to water.
The laughter from across the bay continued. “Go on then, crack on. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll finish,” Deke taunted.
Robert scraped at the edges of the track. A red, fuzzy mold seemed to hold on for dear life. His scraper was not up to the task, but it was all he was given. After some time, crawling on his hands and knees, Robert decided he needed to jump down into the hole. A dark mist swirled half meter deep. He could not see to the bottom. A meter deep? I don’t know about that. He lowered his prybar into the hole. It pierced the mist, then thumped against the bottom.
The smell was unbearable. He wasn’t even able to identify any of the overlapping odors. His stomach churned, the overhead lights seemed to sway. Before he had even realized it, he had vomited into the hole. Another chorus of cheers rang out from the raiders.
“And you’ll clean that too!” Deke yelled from across the room. He was laughing so hard, tears ran down his cheeks.
Robert looked up, his eyes vacant. He looked towards the raiders. Only Nigel and Ruby didn’t seem to be in on the joke. Ruby glared at Deke. She stomped away. As she passed a control panel she reached out and slapped a large button, then continued walking out the doors.
He could feel the air moving under the deck. A slight breeze quickly turned to a ten knot wind. The dark mist churned then dissipated. The smell was still present, but it was no longer overwhelming. Robert lowered himself into the hole and peered around. He spotted something. Something organic. He peered into the edge of darkness. There was a large dead rodent-looking animal rotting away in the dark. Robert retched again. Acid burned the back of his throat as he stood up to take deep breath of air.
Once again, the raiders guffawed. The sounds of their revelry reverberated through Robert’s head. He closed his watery eyes. Tears streaked down his cheeks. Why do they hate me so? What have I ever done to them? Robert turned his back to the crowd. Though it was quite a distance, he did not want them to see his tears. He bent over to wipe his face. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing that he was broken. He stood back up and reached for his scraper.
He went to work scraping the corners of slime, muck, his vomit. What am I supposed to do with all this? I don’t have a receptacle, or anywhere to put this filth.
The portside doors swished open. Digg, Hack, and several other strikers strode into the cargo bay. Robert groaned inwardly. Please don’t look over here, just please don’t.
“Oy! Looky over here,” Digg exclaimed. The other strikers heads swiveled towards Robert in unison. All of them hooted and guffawed. They pointed at him, and one was doubled over with laughter.
“Don’t break a nail, sweetie,” Hack called out. More laughter followed.
If they come over here, I’m going to beat someone with this prybar… Please, don’t come over here. The anger simmered in Robert’s chest, but he held his tongue.
After a minute or two the strikers decided to move on to wherever they were had been heading.
Digg called over his shoulder, “I sure hope that stink will wash off.” The laughter ended when the doors on the other side of the bay slid shut.
Out of the corner of his eye, Robert noticed one of the raiders was walking in his direction. He let out a long breath, silently preparing himself for more harassment. He turned his head just enough to see who was coming to torment him.
Nigel approached. He was carrying a plastic box and dragging a rolling cylindrical item on what looked like a very thick leash.
At least it’s not Deke. I don’t think I could take that right now.
Nigel dropped the plastic box next to the hole. “It seems Deke forgot to give you these things.”
Robert looked in the box. There were disinfectant sprays, duro-wipes, and a pair of long, synthetic gloves. Nigel rolled the cylinder next to the box, and dropped the hose to the ground.
“I think you will find this suction unit helpful,” he said.
Robert was speechless. Deke is a rat bastard.
“These are all the items you should need for this job.” He gestured to the suction unit. “The red button is the power, that switch makes it suck or blow.”
Robert nodded absently and pulled the gloves out of the box and put them on. They went all the way to his elbows. He leaned to the side of the hole and took a deep breath of clean air, and gratitude welled in his chest.
Nigel crouched down towards Robert. He glanced towards the other raiders then back to Robert. “Do not, under any circumstances, let them see you beaten. If they smell blood, they will ride you harder. Savvy?”
Robert nodded.
“Keep your head up, Robert. This too shall pass.” He stood and walked back to the card game.
Robert took another deep breath. “Thank you, Nigel. Thank you for your humanity,” he said just above a whisper. Nigel was already gone.
With the proper tools, Robert cleaned about one hole every thirty minutes. He wrestled with the heavy deck plates, his muscles burning from the effort. He was dirty, and dripped with sweat. When he was a cadet at the Imperial Officers Academy, he hadn’t worked this hard, or done anything half as menial and disgusting.
Robert cracked on with his work, his twelve hour shifts beginning to blur together. His mind drifted as he mopped up puddles of foul slop, gelatinous slime, and goop in all shades of the rainbow.
He thought about his old flat. Its floor-to-ceiling windows looked out towards the Imperial Palace. He would stand there at night and take in the glowing pinpoints of light of every color. The brightly lit skyscrapers, ornately designed, stood like beautiful monuments to wealth and power. He would sip his sixty-four-year-old single malt and absorb the scene.
The next deck plate was jammed. He put all his weight onto the prybar. It broke loose wi
th a loud crack, sending Robert to the floor with a violent jolt. He groaned and rolled onto his back. His body was stiff, and his joints ached. He sat up. No laughter. He was alone in the cargo bay.
He sighed and lay back down. The cold metal soothed him. He waved his hand and brought up the ship’s clock. His shift ended an hour ago. Had everybody been gone that long?
Robert inhaled slowly. He could barely detect any foul odors. Are they gone? Or have I just grown accustomed to them?
How far I have fallen. How much further do I have to go?
He continued to lie on his back. I could go to sleep right here. His thoughts drifted back to drinking his scotch looking out onto the city. Marissa’s image floated across his mind.
What would she think of me now? Would she laugh or cry?
Robert slowly peeled himself off the floor. His coveralls were filthy and smelly. He was bone weary and mentally drained. He policed up his supplies, setting them neatly back into the plastic box. He wound the suction hose around the vacuum. And with great effort, he pushed the last deck plate back into place.
He stood and stretched. His vertebrae and joints snapped and popped. He groaned. I feel so bloody old.
He trudged, zombielike, back to his small cabin. He stripped off his nasty coveralls and threw them in the recycler. He stood under the hot shower until it ran cold, then pulled on his bedclothes and collapsed on to his bunk. He set an alarm for the morning and was sleeping within in a few minutes.
CHAPTER 27
Robert walked down the hall behind the stage of the Imperial Shakespearean Company. He strode confidently down the wood paneled hall towards the dressing rooms. Painted portraits of past actors and directors hung at even intervals. He grinned as he passed his portrait. Robert had been the lead actor for fifteen years, longer than anyone before him. He was proud of that fact. And he still felt like he was on top of his game. Every performance allowed him to hone his craft, and he felt like he was getting better and better with each presentation.
Stagehands and wardrobe mistresses bowed their heads and scampered away as he approached. Sometimes, he would offer a bland smile or a curt nod. He wondered how he’d react if one of them had the temerity to actually speak to him.
“Are you trying to make me look like a whore?” yelled a shrill female voice from down the hall.
“Get out! Just get out. I’ll do it myself.”
Marissa St. Thomas’ dressing room door slammed open. A mousy looking makeup artist scurried out, tears streaming down her cheeks. She briefly looked up to see Robert, who had stopped dead in his tracks, absorbing the ongoing drama. She gasped when she saw him.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ford, I’m on my way,” she stammered, forgetting herself, then darted off at a full sprint.
Robert barely had time to register what happened.
Marissa yelled out the door. “You had best improve your skills. Or I’ll see you thrown out on the street.”
A hairbrush hit the wall next to Robert. He involuntarily stepped back. He stooped and picked up the brush.
Robert approached the door, slowly. He had never seen Marissa angry like this. He leaned in towards the doorway. She sat in front of a glowing vanity wiping off and reapplying makeup.
“I don’t think she heard you,” Robert said cautiously, entering the stylish dressing room and closing the door behind him.
The scowl on Marissa’s face suddenly disappeared, replaced with a warm smile. “Oh, Robert. Please do come in,” she said, continuing to fix her makeup.
The question was on his face. Marissa looked at him from the reflection in her mirror.
He set the brush on the corner of her vanity. She blushed.
“Please forgive me, Robert,” she said, smiling that smile that made his heart melt.
“There’s nothing to forgive, my dear.”
“Good help is so hard to find these days. Is that so much to ask for that the company hire qualified people?” she asked, her scowl starting to reappear.
She collected herself for a moment. That warm smile reemerged. “I’m sorry, Robert, I must seem so beastly right now.” Her eyes softened, and her warm smile turned coquettish.
Robert stepped behind her putting his hands on her shoulders, gazed into those blue eyes through the mirror. “Not at all, lovely Marissa.”
She was in costume, and readying herself for a dress rehearsal.
Robert’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t get any message about a dress rehearsal today? Have I missed something?” he asked.
She shook her head and sighed. “Oh no. I’m standing in for Anna Folstreet today… Again.”
Robert arched an eyebrow. “Is she out again?”
Marissa let out a long breath and looked to see her door was closed. “Yes, I wonder if she’s in rehab again? Everyone is very hush-hush about it.”
Robert narrowed his eyes for a moment. There was a time when the other actors and crew were eager to share information and tidbits of gossip with him. He realized, over the last few months, no one had offered any. He pushed the thought away. “I’ve not heard any news about that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so put out, if I knew I was going be headlining.” She applied her mascara. “But, I just know, she’ll magically reappear right before the curtains go up.”
She continued. “I simply cannot understand why Mr. Houston keeps her around… Honestly.”
Marissa looked up into Robert’s eyes. “I’m sorry Robert. I’m in a foul mood thanks to that makeup wench. I’m just prattling on.”
“Perhaps I can brighten your mood. I stopped by to see if you would like to go to dinner again tonight,” he said smoothly.
She smiled coquettishly. “Hmm. What did you have in mind?”
Robert stepped to the side to look at her. “There is this lovely little dive just outside of Cheapside, called Otto’s Bar and Grill.”
She stopped applying her makeup, and turned to look at him, with skepticism on her face.
“Are you being serious, Robert?”
Robert laughed. “Yes, of course I am, my dear.”
Her skeptical look appeared to be morphing into a frown. Robert caught her mood swing and quickly added, “Hear me out, before you become cross. Otto’s has some of the best schnitzel in Capitol City.”
Her frown softened. “I would have expected our second date might be a bit more posh.” she said, looking thoughtful. “Also, that’s a bit unsafe, no?”
“Fear not, my dear,” he replied, opening his coat on the right side. The handle of a small pistol protruded from the top of his trousers. “I’m prepared for any contingency.”
Her eyes widened when she realized the weapon on Robert’s hip wasn’t a studio prop, but a real pistol. “Is that legal?”
Robert chuckled. “Yes, of course it is,” he began. “We have several patrons that helped lift the veil of red tape.”
That suggestive smile returned to Marissa’s face. “Ooh. Friends in high places.”
Robert matched her smile. “Trust me when I tell you, the food here is worth the risk.”
“Very well, I’ll dress down and bring me Cockney accent,” she said, as her posh accent disappeared.
Robert chuckled again. “Righty-o, I fink that’s a dandy idea,” adopting Cockney himself.
CHAPTER 28
The strikers’ squad bay was located just forward of the cargo bay. There were long lines of big lockers, with benches sitting just in front. The lockers were enormous. Each striker had their own locker to store their battle gig and weapons. There were several tables for weapons and equipment maintenance. Supplies were stacked at the end of the lockers. On the far wall, there was a weapons rack full of unassigned and captured weapons. The squad bay looked like any other on an Imperial warship. It smelled of gun oil and sweaty P suits.
Digg and Hack sat at a metal table by themselves. Several strikers were in the squad bay, likewise performing weapons and equipment maintenance. Digg’s auto rifle lay disassembled in front o
f him. He scrubbed the bolt with a hard bristle brush, then blew the carbon off. Hack had an old, long, curved blade known as an Saracen sword. He methodically scraped a sharpening stone across its edge, stopping every so often to peer down the length.
Digg looked over his shoulder. Boomer and the engineer Makoto were bent over examining something on her exoskeleton. Digg furrowed his brow.
Hack eyed his friend. They had served together for over twenty years. First, as Imperial Marines, and later when the opportunity arose, they jumped ship. They joined an outlaw mercenary unit, but there had been problems. That arrangement had not lasted long. After that, they signed on with some pirates, over ten years ago.
“What’s eating at you, brother?” Hack said with a grin, already knowing the answer.
Digg frowned. He knew Hack was playing with him, and he would keep asking until he drug it out of him. “Why the bloody hell would Boomer request that ponce be brought on board? And why would the captain agree to it?”
Hack wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Why do you suppose she would want that rich, handsome man on board? Hmm?” Hack’s toothy grin reached all the way to his eyes.
Digg scowled. “Thanks, mate. Just rub it in my face.”
Hack threw back his head and laughed. “Come on, Digg, sometimes you wear your heart on your sleeve.”
Digg hunched over his weapon. He sprayed some gun oil into the breech and started scrubbing it with his brush. He sighed and looked up at Hack. “If I had been a little quicker on the trigger, this wouldn’t even be an issue.”
“He’s not the issue. She is. Unless… Are you pissed that he was able to put you on your arse?”
“Well, there’s that too.” Digg began. He looked around to see if anyone was in earshot, and leaned in towards Hack. “Actually, I bolloxed that up. I was complacent. I didn’t check behind the door like I know I should. And bam!” Digg slammed his fist into his hand for emphasis. “He put me on me arse. If that had been an armed guard, I might not be sitting here right now.”
Hack nodded. “You’re right. We’d better stay frosty.”
We Happy Few: The Leviathan Universe 2138 Page 14