by S. A. Lusher
And searching.
It didn't take long to find a little general shop tucked in among the strip mall of stores and restaurants. He moved among the thin aisles of stuff, eventually coming to the medical section and snagging a bottle of the hardest over-the-counter pain meds he could find. He brought it and a bottle of water up to the register, swiped this thumb and marched out of there. As he hunted for a place to eat, he swallowed three of the pills and then made himself down the whole bottle of water, then tossed it into a waste basket.
After pocketing the pills, he found a franchised taco place called Mega Taco that Trent had always made him stop and eat at, claiming they made the best tacos. Drake had had better, but whatever, it had kind of become their ritual. Going in there and ordering a trio of beef tacos and a large Vex was painful, but he stuck it out anyway for two reasons. The first was that he also had some time to kill, since the datafile Hawkins had given him on Mosley informed him the kid wouldn't be off work until three hours from now.
The second was that he'd started going numb almost five days ago.
He wanted to feel something, anything, even if it was pain.
So he ate his tacos and drank his Vex and felt his pain.
* * * * *
The hours dragged by miserably.
Drake ended up walking through the colony, going nowhere really. His mind kept drifting, grabbing onto thoughts and then letting them go. Nothing seemed real. After everything he'd been through, the two decades of mercenary fights, then the stint on Arctica and all the other crap after that...he didn't really feel alive anymore. Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep at night, he thought he must be dead or maybe in a coma and this was just a free-form hallucination. Perhaps he had some kind of mental illness and he was in one of those machines that Allan had once tried out. He'd read up on them after that.
He supposed it was possible.
Stuck forever in a hallucination.
But if that was true then why wasn't Trent still alive? Why wasn't he happier? Maybe it was purgatory or maybe he just didn't think he deserved to be happy. That didn't seem right. Drake didn't consider himself an egomaniac or anything, but he believed in a very simple cause and effect in the universe: he worked hard so he deserved to reap the benefits. It had served him for a long time. Trent was the one who'd gotten all analytical and existential. And anyway, if this was purgatory or a simulation or a hallucination or real life, what difference did it make? Apparently it all added up to the same fucking thing.
When time ran out, Drake hailed a cab and fed him Mosley's address. Maybe the driver picked up on Drake's world-class bad mood or maybe he was just wasn't the chatty type but he didn't say a word on the ride over.
Drake became more depressed as he was deposited onto a rain-slicked sidewalk in front of a rundown, decades-old prefab apartment building that loomed morosely five stories high. Just looking at it was enough to put anyone in a bad mood.
And Mosley lived here.
Drake moved forward, into the bleak lobby. He paused, taking it in: threadbare carpet, minimum lighting, no furniture. With a soft sigh, he moved down the hall and climbed to the forth floor. Of course, the elevator was out. A moment later, he stood before the door he'd been looking for. Drake raised his hand and knocked three times, the sounds loud but flat in the dimly-lit corridor. There was a pause, for a long moment, he heard nothing. He was just beginning to think that maybe he had the wrong time or the wrong apartment when he heard footfalls. A moment later the door opened and a familiar man stood before it.
For a few seconds, he simply stood there, confused.
Drake took the opportunity to study him. He looked like shit. Mosley was pale, with deep bags under his eyes, a scrim of unshaved stubble staining his jaw. He seemed like he'd lost weight since their last meeting on the desert planet. He wore a stained, worn out, pale green jumpsuit with a faded company logo stamped across the chest.
All at once, recognition lit up his tired eyes.
“Drake!” he said.
Despite his dour mood, Drake felt a smile creep onto his face. “You remembered,” he said.
“How could I forget!? All the shit that happened...where's Trent?” he asked.
Drake's features fell. “He's dead.”
“Oh...my god, I'm so sorry,” Mosley said quietly. They both stood there in a moment of awkward silence. “Uh...you should come in,” he said, stepping back out of the way. Drake nodded and moved into the apartment.
As Mosley shut the door behind him, he canvased the area. The apartment was small. Small enough that he could see practically the whole thing in one sweep of his gaze. It was a studio apartment. Living room to his right, bedroom area with the only other door in the place leading to what must be a bathroom and a kitchenette tucked away to the left. The place looked messy and old. There was water damage all along the ceiling, and the walls and floor were bare and stained. A tv hung on the wall to his right, a reclining chair that looked years old in front of it. There was a blanket on it, rumpled. Drake got the idea the kid fell asleep there a lot.
“I was taking a nap,” Mosley said, trying to pick back up the conversation as he sat down in the recliner. Drake walked over and took a seat in a simpler, folding chair next to it. Mosley grabbed a battered pack of Galactic Lites and a lighter from a narrow table in between the two. “You want one?” he asked, passing Drake the pack.
“Sure,” he replied, extracting a cig and passing it back. Mosley lit both cigarettes and they smoked in silence for a moment.
“So...what happened?” he asked.
“A lot of shit,” Drake muttered. “So much went down. We got betrayed. Sold out. Because of that Trent and I were captured. He was poisoned. We didn't find the antidote in time. And now...the guy that sold us out, that caused all that stuff to happen...is dead.”
“Did you kill him?” Mosley asked quietly.
“No, I didn't.”
Another long moment of silence passed. Mosley seemed unsure of what to say to that, so Drake decided to ask his own question.
“What happened to you? Why are you here?” he asked.
Mosley looked over at him, then he looked around his place and offered a short laugh. “Yeah, good question,” he said. “The short answer is: my parents. The long answer...” he sighed and paused as his stomach rumbled. “Shit, I'm starving...maybe we could order a pizza or something. I was too tired to grab anything on the way home.”
“I got a better idea,” Drake replied, standing suddenly. “What's the most expensive restaurant in town? I'll take you there.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, money isn't really a concern for me right now.”
Mosley snorted. “Okay. There's this fancy seafood place a couple blocks over. I've been there once and it was really good. Really expensive, too. My parents took me there last month for my birthday. Finally outta my teens,” he said as he stood up.
“Sorry I missed it,” Drake replied.
Mosley grabbed a black hoodie and shrugged into it, then they left the apartment. He locked the door behind him and they made their way down through the building and back out into the rain. Neither of them seemed to be able to find anything to say on their way to the seafood restaurant. So they smoked their cigarettes and when that ran out they stubbed them out and tossed them into the nearest trash bin.
The place that was apparently the best place in the colony to eat was called Fishe. It at least looked upscale, compared to the other miserable, rain-slicked buildings around it, and there wasn't a line. The pair stepped inside and were shown to their seats. Their server, a young woman in a trim green dress, took their orders promptly. Drake ended up getting three different kinds of local fish and a bunch of crab legs, which were absurdly expensive given that they had to be imported from a place that grew the things, but he didn't really care. Mosley, who took it to heart when Drake told him to get whatever he wanted, also got a lot of crab legs and a four-course meal. While they waited for their meals
to arrive, they sat back and picked up their conversation.
“So, the long version,” Mosley said. “After the thing in the desert happened, we were all kind of out of a job. The government and the military never really liked the whole deal out there anyway and most of the people who ended up out there were people they didn't feel like dealing with. Don't know why I'd be on that list. I'm a good worker, smart, I listen...anyway, I got shipped to some miserable fucking planet, not a whole lot better than the desert one. My second contract, six-month, ended not long after and I just...left.
“It seemed obvious that that job wasn't going anywhere. I ended up coming back to see my parents. This is the colony where I grew up. My life kinda just...stalled, after that. My parents have been working so hard for so long and they have so little to show for it.” He shrugged uneasily. “I couldn't just leave them. Not again. I found a job working on machines in a factory, making repairs and routine maintenance. It's crap work, crap pay honestly. Any leftover money I got goes to my parent's debt. They racked up a big one over the years.”
“So you're stuck,” Drake muttered.
“Yeah, basically.”
Their food came. Mosley was apparently hungrier than he was talkative because he descended into a silent frenzy of feasting after that. It suited Drake just fine. He found that he was quite hungry as well. The pair ate until they'd finished their meal.
“So...” Mosley said after another few moments of silence. “I don't mean to sound ungrateful or anything but...”
“Why am I here?” Drake replied.
Mosley chuckled uncomfortably and nodded. “Yeah.”
Drake considered it for a moment. He leaned forward. “I guess we should cut to the quick,” he said. “Trent said he'd help you. He made that promise to you. It might have seemed idle or offhand at the time, but he would have kept it...if he'd survived. So I want to help you. I'm here on his behalf,” he explained.
“Help me how?” Mosley replied cautiously.
Drake laughed. “How about I explain to you on the walk back?” he replied.
Mosley nodded. The bill came and Drake paid it with a swipe of his thumb. When it cleared, both men stood and left the restaurant.
“I want to get you a new job and now a new place to live.”
“I couldn't leave my parents,” Mosley said.
“Them too. They can come too. Where do you want to go?”
“...just like that? I mean, no bullshit?” Mosley asked.
“No bullshit,” Drake replied. “Just like that. Something I figured out a while ago was that not everyone in a shit situation deserves to be in a shit situation. Life fucks you, a lot. And sometimes all it takes is someone giving you a chance to make things right. I want to give you that chance. I believe that if I get you a job, a good one, you could step up and make it work. Hopefully your parents could, too,” he explained.
“I...yeah, I can do it,” Mosley replied.
“Good.” Drake looked up, into the sky. The rain overcast had thrown the colony into a premature night, but real night was very close now and Drake was beginning to feel tired. “Let's stop by a clothing store, I need some new clothes.”
“Okay, there's one just down the street from my place,” Mosley replied. “And...thanks,” he said. “Sorry, it seems like...not enough, somehow.”
“Don't worry about it,” Drake replied.
Mosley just nodded and kept walking.
* * * * *
Drake bought himself a pair of jeans, a combo package of socks and boxers and a couple of t-shirts, one plain black and another black with a big sodium yellow radioactive logo slapped onto the front and the back, as well as a new pair of nice black steel-toed boots. He wrapped them all in a plastic bag and walked back to Mosley's apartment. When they got back, he took his clothes into Mosley's tiny bathroom.
It was miserable. Tile on the walls, grimy with grout and age and mold. He'd lived in similar conditions, though. Hell, he'd lived in worse conditions. Drake emptied his pockets, setting his handgun down on the counter next to the clothes and...the infopad. He still had it. Slowly, he pulled it out. He still hadn't looked at the damned thing. For a long moment he stared at it. Then, heaving a sigh, he turned it on.
Drake had never been one to avoid a chore. At least not for too long.
He got shit done, that's how you became successful in life.
So, with a heavy heart and grim determination, he activated the single video file.
The screen cleared, faded to black, then, abruptly, Enzo popped into view. A cold, raw-edged hatred immediately speared Drake's stomach as he saw the man. But he'd be lying if he said he felt no pity, or understanding, for this pale, withered, miserable man on the screen. He looked like hell. He looked like he was dying.
Enzo started speaking. He sounded exhausted.
“Greg, Drake or Eve, I hope one of you finds this if I'm dead. I'll keep this short, I'm in a lot of fucking pain. I just wanted to say...I'm sorry. I regret everything. I knew I was wrong, I just didn't care anymore. I just wanted to do something, anything, to stop the pain. It's only gotten worse. I'm going to use this fucking Russian roulette machine and see if I make it, but everyone keeps telling me I won't survive. I don't really care anymore.
“Drake...” He sighed, heavily. Drake tensed. “Most of all, I'm sorry for you. I never wanted Trent to die. I think...he was the best of us. Or he would have been. If I could, I'd trade places with him. I'd give my life for his. I wish...I wish I had killed myself a long time ago.” He paused for a long moment, looking off into the distance.
In the background, there was shouting and gunfire.
“I guess that's all I have to say. Also, sorry for being a dick, Eve. I think I might have loved you, that's why it bothered me so much when you turned me down...bye.”
The screen shut down after another second or so.
Drake stared at it for a long time.
Finally, slowly, he set down the infopad, reached out and turned on the shower. He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to do. A torrent of emotions and thoughts seemed to hit him as he climbed into the shower. Conflicting ideas, horrible cognitive dissidence, wracked him in a miserable complex of guilt, horror and agony.
Drake took the only real option that seemed available to him.
Standing naked in the shower's fall, he began to cry for the first time since Trent had knocked him out and shoved him into that escape pod, saving his life.
* * * * *
“I made the call,” Drake said.
Mosley glanced up. Drake had borrowed his comms unit and gone back into the bathroom after the shower. It had taken a while and he felt a bit better after it was over. It was probably the most he'd cried in his entire life. It felt appropriate. He was mourning Trent...but he was mourning much more, too. And coming to grips with certain things. But he still confused and miserable and unhappy. And now exhausted as well.
“How'd it go?” Mosley asked.
“I talked to my boss,” Drake replied. “He said he'd see what he could come up with.”
When he'd come out, he'd asked Mosley where his parents would like to live, where he'd like to live, what kind of jobs his parents wanted. When he had that information, he'd made the call to Hawkins.
“What will I tell them? How do I explain this?” Mosley replied.
Drake yawned. “We'll think of a story, don't worry. You mind if I sleep here tonight?”
“I don't, but all I have is the recliner.”
“I've slept on worse. Thanks.”
Mosley nodded, then yawned himself. He rubbed at his eyes. “Ugh, long fucking day. Off tomorrow, at least...I'll turn in, too. Um...thanks again, Drake. I, uh, don't really know what else to say,” he said.
“It's fine. Goodnight,” Drake replied, lying down on the recliner.
“Goodnight,” Mosley said.
Drake pulled the blanket over himself, closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep.
* * * * *
He was pulled from a dreamless sleep sometime later.
There was movement in the room. Drake opened his eyes. A thin light showed him a figure framed in front of an open fridge.
He shifted.
The figure turned.
“Did I wake you? Sorry,” Mosley mumbled. “I almost always wake up in the middle of the night, grab something to eat...you want anything? I was going to heat up some pizza.”
“Sure,” Drake replied, yawning and stretching. He was still tired, but not hopelessly so. He could be up for a bit.
He pushed the blanket off of him and stood, joining the kid in the kitchen. The pizza was maybe a day or two old, pepperoni, and Drake accepted the offer. While Mosley heated it up in the microwave, Drake grabbed a can of Vex, popped it open and drank deeply from it. He waited until the pizza was heated, then they went and sat in the living room.
“Are you okay?” Mosley asked abruptly.
“Not really,” Drake replied. Mosley looked at him, clearly waiting for more. Drake sighed and put down his pizza. “I'm...wrestling with some issues.”
“You could tell me. I mean...something I figured out was it really helps just to have someone to talk to. Like, even if nothing will change, even if you can't fix it...it helps just to talk to another human being about it. You'll feel better.”
“I guess that's true,” Drake muttered. “When Trent died, I...didn't know how to handle it. So I latched on to the first idea that came to my mind. When I found out this guy, Enzo, betrayed us, I pinned it all on him. Everything. And I went after him for six months. And he...died. Then he left me a message, right before he died. That message...it made me realized something. It made me realize that...it wasn't his fault.