Underwood, Scotch, and Cry

by Brian Meeks

  Fristion Nash, a fighter pilot in the 2527th fighter wing, has been doing cargo runs from the livestock pod to various cargo bays along the 100 mile x 40 mile x 10 mile (at its highest point) hull of the ship.

  Nash is waiting for a load of beef to be unloaded to the freezer section of Cargo Bay 37 when the attack starts. As per protocol, the cargo bay and all 1200 workers are locked in, and the bay is sealed.

  He is unable to return to his squadron and has to watch helplessly as tens of thousands of pilots die in the harsh black of space. There are heavy losses on both side, and when the final alien battle ship is mortally wounded, it crashes into the Magellan, ending the battle and causing massive damage to her systems.

  Communications are lost, and the residents of Cargo Bay 37 are cut off from the rest of the ship and have no idea about the state of The Magellan.

  Over the next ten years, the population of 1200 residents grows to almost 1300 through births and the taking in of the occasional survivor. The highest ranking officer, Lieutenant Frank Block, runs Cargo Bay 37 like his own little fiefdom.

  The water systems were undamaged during the battle, at least as far as CB 37 is concerned. Electricity is nearly what they need but must be monitored. The stored food is plentiful, but to be safe a series of hydroponic gardening units are created from the shipping containers they've emptied of supplies.

  Cargo Bay 37 is three miles wide by one mile deep by ten stories high. It was 75% full at the time of the attack. A city of shipping container living units is built. After that, a small economy begins; there are stores, workshops, and a few bars, all built from empty containers and using supplies that had been stored for use when the colonization began.

  This is their world.

  Act I

  One

  Fristion Nash is introduced at the bar, Hal's Last Stop. He is with PJ Garnett telling stories about being a map runner. We also hear a mention of the battle that crippled the Magellan. The bartender, Calvin Canyon, listens and cleans. He's the strong silent type, and it's slow at Hal's Last Stop.

  A messenger brings a note to PJ; he's been summoned to the commandant's office. He's being sent out.

  Hanging around the bar is Holly. For ten years she's been Nash's shadow and a general pest. She was sixteen when the attack happened. She's grown up following him around. Now, she's a waitress at Hal's because that's where Nash spends most of his time when he's not on a map run.

  Two

  PJ reports to Frank. He's in his office at the command center; his twin sister is there, too. They assign PJ his mission. We learn about what is expected of a map runner: the dangers and why they're risking their lives. It's a five-day run because he's new.

  Back at the bar, we meet Tempest, who is a singer at Hal's. She's Nash's girlfriend, but she's not faithful. When he's out mapping, she's in the arms of the owner of The Worm Hole, a more popular bar on the other side of the container city. It's getting late, and Nash is drunk. Tempest takes him back to her apartment and puts him to bed, disgusted that he's no use to her when he's this drunk.

  Three

  Nash reports to work, and Frank tells him he's assigning a tracker to him. Nash has never used a tracker and objects, but it isn't a suggestion, it's an order. The new tracker's name is Holly.

  The trackers are able to get real-time data from his wrist mapper and communicate with the map runner. The trackers only work with one runner, and all of the data is only shared with Fiel Block, the second-in-command and Frank's twin sister.

  Four

  Nash gets ready for his next seven-day run. Holly hovers around him as he packs his kit. Nash is annoyed. She's trying to reassure him that she'll be a big help in keeping him alive. He tells her to stay out of his ear when he's mapping. It seems unlikely she will.

  Five

  Frank receives a report that there is an unauthorized pregnancy, in violation of his population control rules. The couple is summoned to his office. He reads the charge and explains their choices, which everyone knows all too well. They may choose abortion, or the male may go on a 90-day mapping. If he survives, he may return to Cargo Bay 37, and the pregnancy will be authorized. Nobody has ever survived for 90 days.

  The population is carefully controlled because of limited resources.

  The reason the map runners are exploring is in an attempt to find a place to safely expand.

  Six

  Nash returns to find that PJ has been found guilty of having a piece of chalk on him when he returned from his five-day map run. He is sentenced to thirty days of mapping.

  Nash punches Frank. Striking a superior officer is a crime punishable by 180 days of mapping.

  Nash throws down his wrist mapper and grabs PJ's piece of chalk and his bag, goes and gets his seven days of rations, and heads through the gate back into the Magellan.

  Act II

  One

  Nash goes out to find PJ and help him survive his 30 days.

  We learn about bands of scavengers, how sections of the ship are like a maze of debris, and how there are other areas without any life support at all.

  Two

  Holly helps Nash find PJ, who was heading into trouble. They battle a group of four scavengers and survive. Nash and PJ take the scavengers' weapons and set out to find a safe place to call their base.

  Three

  Nash has figured out how to survive, and he's teaching PJ the tricks. He shows him how to build a safe camp and how to do as little mapping as possible just to get by. The goal isn't mapping; it's serving his sentence. For the next thirty days, they will be scavengers.

  He also learns something that he can't share with PJ. The wrist map is wrong. The danger areas aren't marked correctly. How could this have happened?

  Four

  On Day 29 they run into a group of aliens. They survive, but just barely, and Nash is wounded. PJ wants to stay with Nash, but Nash tricks him and disappears the next morning, so PJ returns to Cargo Bay 37.

  Act III

  One

  Nash is alone, but he has a secret. He's been building his own hide-a-way for years. It's well stocked, and if he can make it to there, he'll be safe and can heal and wait out his sentence.

  He's alone except for Holly. She can't tell where he's at, but they can still talk. Nash finds her companionship comforting on some level.

  Two

  The mystery of the wrist map drives Nash to learn as much about the ship and what remains as he can. He longs to make it back to his squadron, but that dream becomes secondary when he realizes for the first time he cares about the people of Cargo Bay 37.

  Three

  As the days progress, Nash takes more and more risks and gets farther and farther from the safety of his hideout. He discovers a strange little robot repairing insignificant stuff.

  Four

  His sentence is almost up, and he gets caught between a group of scavengers and a group of aliens. He's almost killed but escapes back to his hiding spot. One of the scavengers breaks off and follows him.

  A rocket launcher almost kills him, but he narrowly escapes and takes care of the scavenger. His safe house is destroyed along with all his supplies, but that's okay because it's his last day of banishment.

  Five

  Nash returns to a hero's welcome. There are parties, and he learns that Tempest has been cheating on him. He and Holly end up together.

  Two weeks later, Holly finds out she is pregnant. Nash won't let her give up the baby and heads back out into the wild, but this time he doesn't have a survival stash.

  The End.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Arthur hadn't slept much when he woke up and looked at the clock. It was 6:15 am, an hour that he considered offensive. Maltese lifted his head, squinted at Arthur, gave a weak meow, and went back to sleep.

  Arthur hadn't been able to turn off the ideas for the new novel, and he had even had a couple of thoughts on the sequel. The internal debate was between needing more sleep and going back to sleep unt
il it was a decent hour. The voices in his head were so focused on arguing about how it wasn't even close to noon that neither seemed to notice they were in agreement.

  Screw it, he thought and got out of bed. The story had roused the muse, and there wasn't any reason he shouldn't get to writing, aside from his lifelong tendency to procrastinate. He got a bottle of water and sat down at the desk.

  The start came easily. Before Maltese got up to investigate, Arthur had written 1,200 words. He fed the cat and got right back to it.

  All day, there was just one point of focus...the summary. The moment he finished writing a section, Arthur would walk around the apartment for a bit to replay in his head the bit he'd just written.

  Kat sent a text message around eleven o'clock, and Arthur wrote back that he was in the zone. This time he chose not to follow it up with any sort of clever flirty comment, which might have been a first for him.

  The afternoon word pace slowed down a little. He had an idea that wasn't part of the original plan, and there was considerable waffling back and forth about which was better, his original idea or the new one.

  From two to three o'clock he only managed two hundred and twenty words. He'd chosen to stay with the original path he'd outlined, but after he reread the material, the delete button got him back on track. The new idea was better, and he knew it.

  With this decision made, the writing was easier.

  At a little past ten he was done for the day. The word count surprised Arthur. He had managed six thousand words on day one.

  Sleep came easily, and when Arthur got up the next day around seven in the morning, he didn't try to talk himself out of writing; he got to it. Seven thousand words later, he had written his way back to the original plot line.

  The phone had remained on the charger all day. There was text from Kat that read, How's the writing going?

  It was just after eight-thirty in the evening, so he gave her a call.

  Kat answered, "Hey there, Mr. Writer. How did it go today?"

  "I'm sorry I didn't text you back."

  "I'm not one of those women, it's okay. I’m guessing you were far away on the Magellan."

  "Space travel is a lot more interesting than I had imagined. How did your writing go?"

  "I had a good day."

  "I'm going to need a word count from you, missy."

  "Just a second, let me check."

  Arthur knew what sort of numbers she put up on her good days, so he prepared his fragile male ego for a number well beyond his own.

  "Okay, I managed seven thousand, eight hundred, and twelve words. I'm nearing the end, so the writing is flowing like bacon from the great bacon falls of western North Dakota. How about you?"

  "Bacon falls, eh? You've been spending too much time with me. I had my best day ever...and you still beat me...but that's okay. I managed seven thousand and three words."

  "That's excellent and way better than what you were doing a couple of days ago. You shouldn't let my word count bother you because it isn't a competition...though if it were, I'd have won...by eight hundred and nine words...if you're scoring at home."

  Arthur laughed. If he were ranking the qualities he liked about Kat, her trash-talking would be right up there near the top. "Now, I'm not an expert on indie author etiquette, but isn't it considered rude not to offer to buy a drink for the loser...even though it isn't a competition...that you clearly won?"

  "Where are my manners? Shall we meet at the Blue Octave Cove?"

  "I don't know that place, but I bet I can ask Siri."

  "I'll see you there. I'll be the one wearing a smug look of victory."

  It was a twenty-dollar cab ride from his place to the Blue Octave Cove.

  The outside of the bar looked seedy in all the right ways. An old man in a blue suit with a matching fedora leaned against the wall smoking. He gave a nod to Arthur. "You like good music, young man?"

  "I do. You know where I might hear a pleasing tune?"

  "Right through that door is the best damn trumpet playing since Louis Armstrong's early years."

  "The Hot Five and Hot Seven years, then?"

  The old man seemed pleased. "You do know a thing or two about jazz, I see. You're gonna like it here, buddy."

  "I'm meeting a woman."

  "She's gonna like it too, but don't be surprised if she runs off with the bass player. I've seen it before."

  "Who's the bass player?"

  The man stuck out his hand. "Ray Chamberlin's the name. I'll try not to steal your lady, but sometimes I just can't keep them off me."

  "Arthur Byrne, and I appreciate the kindness." He shook Ray's hand.

  "Enjoy the show, we'll be starting up in a half hour...give or take."

  It was one of those things he loved about Manhattan. The people that made up the nightlife were always interesting in ways that fed a writer's soul.

  Inside, the place was packed. There was a long bar to the right, and near the end of it he saw Kat waving to him. She wore a dark blue satin top and a black skirt. Arthur worked his way through the crowd, and she met him halfway.

  "Nice jacket, Mr. Byrne. You look like you belong."

  "I Googled the place before I let Maltese pick out my attire. You're looking quite fetching yourself."

  "Thanks," she said with a smile.

  "I hear the trumpet player is pretty good."

  "You have no idea. If you listen closely, you can almost hear God."

  "Well, let's see if we can find a spot."

  Kat took his hand and led Arthur through the crowd up to a section of tables by the stage. They stopped at an empty table just to the right of center stage.

  Arthur said, "I think it's reserved. There's a little card..."

  Kat picked up the card and spun it around. It read Arthur Byrne.

  "How did you manage that?"

  "You're a famous author. I just used your name."

  "I'm not that famous."

  "Okay. I know the owner."

  "And you were able to pull this off last minute?"

  "I made the reservation three days ago," she said with a smile that clearly indicated there was one player at the table, and it wasn't Arthur.

  A woman brought drinks and set them on the table. Arthur raised his glass. "To a great evening, with wonderful music and beautiful company."

  "Cheers."

  It was a great evening, too. Arthur let his stress over the ridiculous wager have the night off. The conversation with Kat was like a slow jazz tune, written just for them. One story led to another, and then that one ended with a call for another round. Kat put it on her tab.

  Somewhere along the way, they had started holding hands. It made Arthur feel warm, like a favorite blanket on a chilly night. The music and the musicians cast a spell on the crowd that made memories for all. It was the sort of night people would talk about decades from now.

  The first set ended, and they had more time to talk. Arthur told her about his high school, and she talked about her mother and the practical jokes her family had played on each other growing up. It seemed it was a long-standing tradition, and she had gotten her fair share of revenge for her mom's shenanigans.

  More than anything, Arthur was himself. He wasn't trying to impress, but instead was letting himself be won over by Kat's endless energy and charm. The best part was the laughing. Nobody had ever told stories that made him laugh like she did.

  The noise of the bar faded. Even Arthur's awareness of her considerable physical beauty seemed to drift off to a place somewhere in the back of his mind, and all that was left were those stunning eyes, flashing with each of the memories she shared so eagerly.

  The second set was even better than the first. There was more hand holding, two more rounds of drinks, and then somewhere around one o'clock a bit of kissing was mixed in with the warm buzz of a perfect evening.

  When the bartender announced it was last call, Arthur started to stand. Kat put her hand on his. "We'll wait until it thins out a bit.
Jerry will call us a cab."

  They had their last drink, and an hour later the place was nearly empty. The bass player stopped by and asked if they'd enjoyed the show.

  Arthur said, "It was some of the best music I've ever heard."

  Kat linked her arm through Arthur's. "Ray, you get better every time I hear you."

  Ray tipped his hat and headed for the door.

  There were two waitresses putting chairs up on tables, and the bartender yelled, "You want a cab, Kat?"

  "Thanks, Jerry," Kat said and gave Arthur a long kiss.

  Somewhere during the kiss, Arthur forgot the brilliant line he had planned on using to invite Kat back to his place, but when they got in the cab, she told the driver his address and snuggled into his side.

  Maltese had to spend the night on the couch.

  The next morning Arthur didn't rush to start the day. He and Kat let the day begin slowly, without fuss. She got out of bed first, and Arthur watched her pull a tee shirt out of his closet. It looked better on her.

  It was decided that a little breakfast was in order, so they got dressed and went to a donut shop down the street. After they had finished their coffee and two glazed, Kat said, "Last night was fun, but I've got to go finish my book. I'm feeling like it's going to be a big word count day. You know that the loser only gets drinks the first night? After that it's the winner who gets treated."

  "Then I better get to writing."

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The next twelve days were indistinguishable from one another. Arthur wrote all day and went out with Kat at night. He had days where the writing was easy and a few where he struggled. The bad days, though, were still better than what he had been doing before writing the beats.

  Kat had finished her work-in-progress and started working on a sequel to one of her other series. During a discussion about the state of their affair, several monikers were suggested by Arthur so that he might properly and respectfully describe their relationship. She had rejected "partner," "significant other," "better half," and even "Wise and beautiful muse who knows what's best." They had settled on "girlfriend."