by Nic Plume
"You need to stay hydrated," Tonee said.
Yeah, well, I’m working on it.
Taylor rested his forehead on the crook of his arm. He wanted to go back to sleep. Tico had visited him the day before, shortly after Tristan had been in for Taylor’s daily duty to empty the waste buckets and refill the drinking buckets with fresh water and to give him his food ration. Tico had been pissed, but he didn’t beat Taylor. No, he decided to take charge of the weekly shower Tristan usually made Taylor take during one of his visits. But, unlike Tristan, who used the water hose in the cellblock and allowed Taylor to use soap, Tico used the high-pressure hose in the courtyard by the lift tube—and a hydro massage it definitely hadn’t been.
"Taylor!" Tonee’s bark brought him back to the present. "Hydrate!"
Taylor looked at the bucket. Yup, still hasn’t moved any closer. He lowered his head again.
"Move!"
Fine.
He did. Slowly, one limb at the time, he dragged himself toward the bucket. His body was lethargic and stiff, and still aching from this newest set of bruises. What little energy he had, drained like water running through sand. He wanted to pause, needed to rest, stock up energy, but every time he stopped, Tonee barked at him. So he continued, the circles in the floor moving past at a snail’s pace, until he felt the bucket.
Finally. He leaned his head against the rim. Just a moment.
"Drink!"
Taylor started up again. Shit. He’s not going to drop it, is he? He pushed up onto his elbows and leaned over the bucket.
Where the rest of the cell smelled of dirt, piss, and blood, the inside of the bucket smelled fresh and clean. He filled the cup floating in the water and brought it to his lips. Cool, refreshing liquid flooded his mouth, unsticking his tongue in the process. He repeated the process three more times, savoring every sip, and then allowed the cup to slip from his grasp. Leaning his forehead against the opposite rim of the bucket, he waited for the water to do its magic on the rest of his body. With the water so close to his nostrils, filtering the air, he could almost imagine himself in a different, better, place.
"You trying to drown yourself?"
Tonee’s humor edged out some of the worried urgency in his voice.
There he is. Taylor smiled and closed his eyes.
Tonee sat on a boulder beside him. His booted feet dangled in the pool of water in front of them, but it was clear that he wasn’t happy with the prospect of making his way through the underwater obstacle course the trainers had set up in the simulated pond.
"Drown myself?" Kaydeen replied. She’d just finished her leg of the obstacle course relay on their training schedule that day. "You realize I’m floating, right?"
"Yeah, but you keep sticking your head under water."
"Tonee," Kaydeen laughed, "I’m using a rebreather."
"So? Your face still gets wet."
Taylor had been following Salayla’s progress through the course and been barely listening to their exchange, but Tonee’s comment turned his head.
"What does a wet face have to do with drowning?"
Tonee shrugged. "Sounded good."
"No, it didn’t." Taylor frowned.
"Yeah," Tonee grinned, "but it made you come out of your ‘win all or die’ mode. This is only a practice session, you know."
"So, I’m not supposed to take it seriously?"
"Nah, but not to this life and death stress level you keep taking it to."
"I’m not stressed."
"Of course not. You’re shoving that off onto everybody else."
"You’re not stressed, either."
"That’s beside the point." Tonee wrinkled his forehead. "But it would be nice, every once in a while, to do something other than study and train. That’s all we do, even in our free time, as if that’s all our life revolves around—training and learning."
"It does. We’re at the Academy."
Tonee shook his head. "Don’t confuse me with facts."
The seriousness with which Tonee delivered those words brought Taylor up short. Tonee held his gaze.
"We’ve been together for two months now." Tonee traced a circle with his palm facing his chest. "And you don’t even know how to read this." His expression stayed serious as he shook his head, then threw up his arms. "Dude, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you."
"I got that. What do you want? Handholding sessions where we shell out our deepest secrets to each other?"
"It’d be a start." Tonee shrugged. "But I’d be happy with you loosening up a little. We’ve been working hard—busting our asses, more like it—and I think we," he indicated himself, Kaydeen, and Salayla, who was about halfway through the course, "have done enough to prove that we’re worth trusting." He held Taylor’s gaze while he paused. "So, why don’t you?"
"I do."
"With the missions, training, and teamwork, yes, but not with yourself. Open up. Let us in. Stop guarding every fucking word and action. I need to be able to tell if what you’re saying is truly what you mean. I need to be able to read you. Right now, I can’t, like you can’t read me, because you keep yourself shut away and protected. That hurts both of us, and our team’s performance."
"Okay, so what do you want me to do?"
Tonee stared at him, then scrunched up his face and looked at Kaydeen, who was climbing out of the water on his other side. "Isn’t that what I just told him?" He turned back to Taylor. "Are you really that dense?"
"No," Taylor glanced at the water. "Unlike you, I can actually float."
Tonee stared at him. "You made a joke." His face broke into a grin. "And a good one at that." He punched Taylor on the shoulder.
"Who says I was joking?"
"Aw, dude, come on, my hopes for you were starting to rise." He shook his head. "Why’d you have to shoot them down like that?"
Taylor chuckled.
"Kaydeen," Tonee deadpanned, "get a medic."
Taylor looked up in alarm, searching out Salayla in the water. She was fine.
"He cracked his face with a smile," Tonee continued.
Taylor closed his eyes and drew a deep breath before looking back at Tonee, who was grinning widely. Behind him, Kaydeen shook her head.
"You know," she said, "he has a point." She looked back and forth between them. "Both of you." She looked at Taylor. "While I don’t think it’s hurting our performance too much, it would make things easier if you’d allow us to get to know you a little more, to see through your defenses. Not everybody is as good at reading people as Salayla and I." She eyed Tonee as if indicating a handicap. "Some people need more visual clues."
"Hey," Tonee protested.
"But Taylor is right, too." She ignored Tonee’s scowl. "You don’t float because you tighten your muscles too much. You’re not afraid of the water and you swim as well as anybody here, even better than some, so it shouldn’t take much to learn to relax enough to float. Our bodies are made up of mostly water, so it could be considered a natural habitat for us."
"If water was supposed to be my natural habitat, I’d have gills."
"I don’t understand your aversion to water."
"Blame my parents. It’s their fault I grew up as an Intergal brat."
"What’s that got to do with it?"
"Their duty stations were exclusively space-based, so I spent time dirt-side in nature only during family leave or on visits with my grandparents."
"Most space stations and large carriers have real and virtual water features for recreational and training use."
"Hey, stop using facts to confuse my truth."
"Taylor!" The concern had edged its way back into Tonee’s voice. "Get your face out of the fucking bucket." His cursing had picked up over the last three years, but at least he’d stopped calling Taylor ‘dude’.
Ah well, it was good while it lasted.
Taylor took one more, long whiff of the clean water, dismissed the memory, it and Tonee’s words had invoked, and then rolled onto his back.
He still felt sore, but at least the cobwebs had lifted from his brain. He stared at the ceiling, resuming his habit of counting its holes, and listened as Tonee tried unsuccessfully to settle himself into a comfortable sitting position. His breaths were ragged and shallow, and accompanied by the occasional grunt.
"What happened?"
The movement cut out, but Tonee’s breathing stayed shallow. "You were dehydrated and nearly drowned yourself in the bucket."
That’s not what I’m asking about, and you know it. But Taylor allowed him the deflection.
"I can see your obituary now: Mark Taylor, top graduate of SF Class 7.68.174, drowned during his first mission while attempting to drink from a bucket." Tonee’s snicker was cut short by a sharp intake of air.
Taylor continued to wait.
"I bruised my side a little," Tonee finally relented. "It’s no big deal."
"I’d say that’s more than a little bruise."
"How would you know?"
"You’re favoring your side, breathing shallow, and holding your breath whenever you move your torso."
"You haven’t even looked over here."
"Don’t have to. Your mass displacing the air generates enough sound waves to not need a visual."
"In other words, my fat ass is making too much noise."
The one thing your body-mass does not consist of is fat. And you’d be the first one to graphically point that out to anybody claiming otherwise.
"I would’ve said that my hearing is that good, but fat ass works, too." Taylor grinned, waiting for the rebuttal. It never came.
"How bad is it?"
"A couple of bruised ribs and a cut across my side."
"What happened?"
"A miner tripped in front of one of the automated hoppers. I pulled him out of the way but didn’t move fast enough to avoid a piece of ore sticking over the rim. We ended up at the bottom of a waste rock dump."
"Any cracked ribs?"
Tonee stayed silent.
"Tonee, if it truly was nothing, you wouldn’t be sitting here talking to me. You’d be below, working."
Tonee sighed. "No, no cracked ribs, but the ore sliced me open pretty good and the tumble ground dirt and tailings into the cut. I lucked out, though. The miner broke his leg and cracked his head open on a boulder."
"Did they treat you?"
"Yeah, they cleaned the cut and sealed it. They also scanned me for internal damage, which came up clean, so no broken ribs. I’m off the labor rotation for two days to make sure the seal takes."
They fell silent, each disappearing into their separate thoughts.
"How are you holding up?" Tonee broke the silence a few minutes later.
Taylor stopped himself from giving his reflexive answer. That wasn’t fair to Tonee—he wanted to know the uncolored truth, the same as Taylor had.
"I’m sore and stiff, but all right. Haven’t received a beating in a while."
"Then what are you sore from?"
"Got a shower yesterday from a high-pressure hose."
"Shit. I’d call that a beating, too."
"It wasn’t too bad. I’ve had worse. Tico is merely trying to get to me. Guess he’s still pissed that I broke his hand."
"So, how are you holding up in that department?"
"In what department?"
"Yeah, you know—mentally, emotionally. And don’t say this shit’s not affecting you."
"Okay, then I won’t."
"You won’t what?"
"Tell you this shit’s not affecting me."
"Are you saying it isn’t?"
"Is this a trick question, or something? You told me not to tell you that." Taylor smiled. Usually it was Tonee who led the conversation in circles. Unless, of course, he was trying to be serious—like now.
Tonee harrumphed, clearly aware that Taylor was using Tonee’s tactics against him.
"You know we’re going to get out of here." Taylor didn’t like the direction Tonee’s thoughts seemed to keep wandering.
"That’s what you keep saying."
"Because it’s the truth."
"Yeah?" Tonee’s voice turned incredulous. "When? And how? We’ve been here for weeks, if not months, and haven’t come any closer to an escape plan." He paused in frustration. "We haven’t even been able to determine what’s going on out there or what happened to the Fleet."
"We haven’t been handed over to the Traverse," Taylor soothed.
"No? Then what do you call this shithole?"
"I don’t know," Taylor kept his voice level and low but resolute, "but it’s not Traverse."
He felt Tonee’s gaze on him.
"What makes you say that?" Tonee’s voice had lowered a few octaves. Good.
"Well," Taylor looked at his friend, "we haven’t seen any Traverse soldiers, nor have we been interrogated." He paused. "Have you gotten any closer to figuring out how long we’ve been here?"
"One hundred seventeen work and sleep cycles, by Kaydeen’s count, though we’re still not sure how long a cycle is. A Tinareean day is slightly shorter than nineteen standard hours and divided into twenty-five hours, which makes a Tinareean hour a little over forty-five standard minutes long. From what we’ve gathered, workers are expected to put out ten hours of labor a day, but with the different breaks we haven’t been able to figure out how long each shift is. We can’t ask straight out, so it’s hard—"
"Why not?" Taylor interrupted him.
"Because Tristan made it clear that if our presence raises so much as an eyebrow, he’d allow Tico unrestricted access to you."
"Unrestricted? Are you saying he’s restricted right now?"
"Tristan told him straight out that he couldn’t use the whip again, and it seems he’s also keeping him from doing other things Tico has come up with." Tonee paused. "That bastard wants to break you," he continued quietly. "He’s even gloated that by the time he’s done, you’ll drop your pants at the sight of him and beg him to fuck you."
"Did he."
"Those were his words."
"Why haven’t you told me?"
"What good would it have done?"
True, but it would’ve still been nice to know. "He’s not going to break me."
"Yeah, I know." Tonee’s voice lacked conviction. "But I’d prefer he not get the opportunity to put effort into it. Not with all the shit he’s already doing to you."
As would I, my friend. "I’ll be fine," Taylor deflected. "I know you guys have my back."
Tonee snorted. "How can we have your back when we’re down below while you’re up here?"
"Exactly as you are. We’re still a team, pieces of the whole, each with a specific role. Mine is up here, keeping Tico’s attention. Yours is down below, collecting intel. We keep at it, we’ll beat them and get out of here."
Taylor felt like one of their trainers giving an overblown pep talk. From Tonee’s huff, he sounded like it, too.
"We are each excellent at what we do. As long as we work together, we’re unbeatable. We both know that."
"Yeah," Tonee scoffed, "at the Academy, where the worst we had to face was a bad-tempered trainer with a grudge while completing controlled challenges that had been run so many times the trainers had the risks and possible damage of every step and kink memorized."
"And they gave us all the skills we need," Taylor rebutted. "We simply have to translate them into the here and now." He paused to let his words sink in. "I’m a scout. As such, I’m not supposed to be with you, but out finding the way and clearing your path. That’s exactly what I’m doing. The more Tico focuses on me, the less Tristan can focus on you guys, allowing you to find and do what you need to get us out of here."
He met Tonee’s gaze.
"No one ever said this job was going to be easy or without sacrifice. I’m fine with that. I know you’ll pull me out on the other side. You always do."
Tonee looked at him sharply.
Oh, come on, big guy, do I have to map it out for you?
"You
’re our powerhouse, Tonee. You drive us through whatever comes." Taylor couldn’t believe Tonee had never realized that. "I only point the way. You’re the one who gets us there."
Tonee stared at his folded hands and rubbed his thumbs across each other. "What if, by the time we find the right intel, you’re unable to work it?"
"You don’t need me to work it. You have the best two minds with you."
"What if he breaks you?"
Damn it, Tonee, get out of that fricking dump of despondency. But Taylor knew that was what had been on Tonee’s mind all along. It had taken this roundabout conversation for him to put it into words. It was a fear that would paralyze his confidence if he allowed it to run wild.
"Then you fix me."
"How?"
"You’ll know."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounded like."
"There you go again, going all cryptic on me." Tonee threw up his hands.
"Telling you that I trust your instincts is cryptic?"
"No, being vague and mysterious is. Like a Seer."
"I’m not a Seer. I can’t see the future. I only have a knack for picking the right direction and timing."
"Yeah, but you sure as hell sound like one. I’m your drive." He snorted. "And what, Sal keeps us stocked and balanced, and Kay makes us whole?"
"That’s not what I said." Though it does sound right.
"Close enough. The gist is that it leaves you in the shithole."
"Well, deal with it," Taylor replied, a little sharper than he intended. "I am."
Tonee fell silent.
An image of a kicked puppy came to Taylor’s mind. He looked over at his friend to verify his words hadn’t done what his mind had imagined. Tonee stared into space, lost in thought. He didn’t like hearing the truth of their situation, but he would deal with it. A few moments later, he returned to the present and met Taylor’s gaze. Yes, he would deal with it, and he would do his damnedest to ensure they all came out the other end—Taylor didn’t expect anything less.
12
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