Escape to Neso

Chapter 3

Chapter 3“I brought you some food.” Sartre threw freeze dried packets at Madsen, along with a small clear packet marked water. Sartre chuckled when Madsen flinched after one of the two packets hit Madsen’s face.

Madsen turned and waved his hands after being struck. “I can’t eat with my hands tied behind my back. If you’re that worried, I’m going to do something, and I would be crazy to do something like that, you can rope my feet together. But, please, can you at least put the plastic ties on my hands so they’re in front of me. I do have to use the toilet.”

“There’s only one toilet here.”

“I won’t dirty it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sartre paused. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t. But I can’t overpower you. You’re stronger, faster.”

“True. But how do I know you won’t kill me in my sleep? You remind me of someone. He was a liar, and a cheat. Just like a lot of people out here.”

“You mean, humans? You’re human. Maybe human plus.” Madsen paused. “Or do you categorize Martians too in general?’

“I don’t trust you,” Sartre said.

Madsen nodded. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, I’m a stowaway after all. But if it means anything, I’m in a better position to understand you.”

Sartre snorted derisively. “Yeah, I’m sure you do.”

“My family was on the third expedition to Mars. They were in the first batch of non-scientists to go. Do you know why?”

Sartre shook his head. “Should I care?”

Madsen forged on. “Because of the color of our skin. They were part of the custodial crew. My great great grandmother was a child who came from the islands of Hawaii. My great great grandfather was black. Their parents wanted to start over in life. My family didn’t have a privileged life on Mars. A lot of my family mined.”

“I know you’re trying to make me feel sorry for you. But you’re a thief. You haven’t said anything that will make me trust you.”

Madsen sighed. “I only came on board because I needed to get to Enceladus 2. That’s all. That’s all I wanted to do. You had an opportunity to turn back around, but you didn’t. You must have had a reason.”

“And you don’t? You admitted taking a bag of high-grade rare metals that was only given to you for collateral. And which obviously many private companies would pay a hundred times the weight of that bag.”

“I get that.” Madsen sighed. “I guess there’s no point in trying to convince you. And yet, you didn’t turn around. Either you want to give me a benefit of doubt, or like I said, you have your reason not to turn around. Either way, that’s your thing, not mine.” Madsen waited for a response, and seeing none, he continued. “I give up.” Madsen paused. “After I use the facility, and I eat, just keep me locked up here. Just promise me, you’ll let me off Enceladus 2. You only have to deal with me for a several Terran days.”

Sartre stepped out in the hallway. He beckoned Madsen to follow him, and Madsen did as instructed. When Sartre pointed to the ground, Madsen kneeled.

“Lie down,” Sartre said.

Once again, Madsen was prone, but this time he wasn’t physically forced to lie flat with Sartre’s foot or knee on his back.

Sartre grabbed a pair of chains that he’d used for mooring, and cuffed Madsen. Sartre took the J-knife he had brought with him, and after pressing Madsen’s back, cut the ties off Madsen’s hands. Holding Madsen’s shirt, he tugged Madsen to stand up. “Turn around.”

Madsen did as he was told, faced him, and held out his hands. Madsen didn’t fight Sartre as he put plastic ties on Madsen. Madsen shrugged and held up his hands. Sartre stood emotionless, almost expecting Madsen to be noncompliant.

“That was easy. Now, can I use the toilet?”

“You sure are a demanding one for a freeloader.”

Sartre took a few steps and slid open a small door. He motioned Madsen to use the lavatory.

“I’m glad I don’t have my hands tied behind my back, otherwise I’d be asking you to fish out my friend.”

“Hmmm. In your dreams,” Sartre said as he crossed his arms and turned his back. He didn’t have to watch Madsen do his business.

Madsen elbowed the door so that it was partly closed and gave him privacy. “You know, I’m not a freeloader. I learned to be a mechanic. I can help you with this ship. I mean, this ship is a dinosaur. It must take a lot to keep it up.”

“Do you ever stop talking? Hurry up so I can lock you back up in the equipment closet!”

The sound of the sink’s dripping water forced Sartre to stop talking himself. He eyed Madsen warily as he inched out of the toilet. Once he confirmed Madsen’s leg chains didn’t cause Madsen to trip, and his captor’s wrists were still tied, he relaxed.

“It’s going to be a long time before we get to Enceladus 2. I’d like to be useful.”

“Your usefulness ran out when I had to account for more oxygen on this ship.”

“This is a G-class ship. A little old but it can produce oxygen, separated from nitrogen oxide as the methane gas is converted in the fuel cells.” Madsen laughed. Clearly, Sartre underestimated him. “See, I’m not a dumb mechaniker.”

Sartre crossed his arms.

“It means—’’

Sartre held up his hand to cut him off. “I know Martian mishmash.”

“While we’re on minimal impulse power, until you’ve stored enough solar energy anyway, I can clean the fuel cells. It takes a lot of work to keep up with these antiques.” Madsen tapped a panel next to him. “Look, a couple of these lights aren’t even working. If you have extra LED bulbs, I can change them out. This old bucket does take LED, right? I mean no one has really uses them for the last century or so, but I’m guessing you’re the kind of guy to keep spare parts or know where to trade for them.”

“Go back in the compartment and eat, and I’ll think about what to do with you. Although to be honest, I haven’t jettisoned anything in a long time in the torpedo chutes. It probably will help clean it out a little.”

Madsen’s eyes widened in fear. And Sartre had to turn his head to hide his smirk. Of course, he would never do something like that, but he didn’t want Madsen to know.

When he faced Madsen again, Madsen had a slight smirk too that disappeared quickly. Madsen then raised his right hand in a feeble attempt to mimic the Martian colonial security salute. Madsen wasn’t able to do it without raising both hands because of the restraints. “Aye, aye.” Madsen shuffled back to the supply closet.

Sartre almost laughed but stifled it, locking the closet with Madsen inside, and walked away. He was happy to hear Madsen tearing open the food. He wondered, though, if he could actually trust Madsen.