Lt. Reilly 2321

Chapter 2: Lion’s Head

The spaceport at Lion's Head was a typical trading outpost, an underwhelming city on an otherwise useless desert planet. Like most on the border sectors, it started out as a mining colony, that built the infrastructure to support the overnight economy, and when the ore dried up, so did the money and most of the population. Those who were there were the ones who could still profit off the ships coming to the port for fuel and water stopovers or had nowhere else to go, or who could not afford the transportation off the rock. It was run down, dirty and dangerous for anyone who didn't know how to watch over their shoulder, without looking like they were watching over their shoulder. Now I didn't exactly fit in, but I didn't stick out either. My slight limp might have made me a target to some thugs as I walked down the street, but my military issue pack over my shoulder told all that I would not be an easy mark. It didn't have much on it but my last name and a screaming eagle patch; a sign of the deep space fighting service. Those who served in units like that had a well-earned reputation. You don't want to go up against a man who may have faced down a Serken and lived to talk about it.

I headed into the heart of the city where people were abundant. My first order of business was to find a place to bunk for the night and get a hot meal. I decided that I could start looking for work in the morning. I hadn't had a day off outside of a medical facility in a long time and liked the idea of having a day to myself. Besides, I figured it wouldn't be too hard to find a ship in need of someone with my skills. If not, I could always hitch a ride on the next military cargo ship heading in the general direction of Earth, an unofficial perk of being a war vet.

A flashing green and blue sign on the side of a plain concrete building blinked 'Lunch, Dinner, Clean Rooms.' “Good enough," I thought as I walked in that direction. It was four stories with no windows facing out on any floors except the ground level, which was mostly open air with arches and openings were glass should have been. A typical design for buildings in areas that get a lot of bad weather like sandstorms. They build them like boxes with open areas in the middle and put the windows on the inside. The main floor had a variety of mismatched tables and a service desk in the center. I walked in and headed directly to the man behind the counter.

"What's your pleasure, Sir?" the sizeable unshaven man asked with a big grin revealing gaps in his teeth.

I bit my tongue, trying my best to hide my amusement at how the man reminded me of a pirate from a children's movie.

"How much for a room?" I asked.

"Two credits for an hour, ten for a night, and forty will get you a week."

"I think one night will do," I said passing my palm computer over the pad on the counter, which made the p*****t. The room assignment appeared on the handheld screen along with the security code to access it."

"Very good, Sir. The lifts don't work anymore, but you can take the stairs on either side of the lobby to your room."

Looking around I noticed people were eating at the tables, but no servers. "Your sign out front said you have meals. Are you still serving?"

"Food dispensers are along the far wall," he answered.

Adjusting my pack on my shoulder, I made my way over to the nearest dispenser. The menu wasn't very elaborate, but the prices were pretty low for a port. The choices weren't exactly making my mouth water, and I concluded I was more tired than hungry. Yet I didn't want to come back down for a meal after dark. This place didn't have a public nightlife feel to it. I made my selections and then went to find a place to sit.

I decided on a spot by one of the unglazed windows at a tall round table. There were two stools attached to it on either side, though there was barely enough space on the table for one person. The groove in the concrete where the glass had once been, had long ago been filled in and poorly painted over in a less than diligent effort to cover up a more affluent past. I picked the spot so I could have a view of the city that I had never been to before, but it didn't offer much to amuse the eye; dust covered clay and concrete buildings. Some were boarded up and all fairly neglected. The people walking the streets were as bland as the buildings as most were clothed in coverings that were as unkempt as the structures they resided in. Not that there were too many people to observe. Those who were out, walked quickly with stern expressions and rare eye to eye contact with anyone unless they got too close for comfort. Then a hard glare warned off anyone who would dare address a neighbor. It was abundantly clear that no one was happy to be there, and no one ventured out unless they needed to. The dining area that could hold a few hundred visitors was at that moment occupied by fewer than a dozen and those were clearly non-residents, most likely on a brief layover like I was. Steam rose from my small bowl of vegetable soup as I removed the ceramic lid. What I wouldn't give for a good Angus steak, or pot roast, or even my mother's meatloaf. I had hoped to get the chance to have some meat since I was spending my money on civilian food, but apparently, this outpost was still on the ration restrictions that were common during the war. The news outlets had been talking for months about how it was taking a lot longer than expected for the economy to recover from the 20-year conflict with the Serkens. A lot of the outposts were still waiting for the New Era of Peace and Prosperity to catch up with them. Not having spent much of my own money since I joined the forces at 17, I would have been happy to splurge on a beef broth or even a chicken salad sandwich, but the limited selection didn't even have those choices. So, it was a vegetable soup that was more water than vegetables and a PB&J sandwich that was actually a protein and vitamin paste that was poorly flavored to taste like peanut butter and grape jelly on two pieces of bread. But it was sanitary and healthy food that would get me through to another day. Gerald cut corners on everything, including the food for his crew. For the past few months, since I signed on to the cargo ship, I had been getting by on old field ration packs that had expired nearly five years ago. Fortunately, I knew which ones would and would not make a man sick. Like the shrimp and broccoli with rice that tended to grow a fungus after a few years despite the smart military packaging.

With nothing else to hold my attention, I pulled out my pocket computer from the inside of my jacket and placed it on the table between the food. For everything that was undesirable about this place, the net access was pretty good. I was able to quickly see that I had no new correspondence to reply to and nothing on my calendar that required my attention. So, I tuned into the local news feed that was an automated text stream of news from around the Alliance and local weather and transport schedules. There wasn't very much that I cared about. A lot of political pontificating, stories about drama stars that I couldn't care less about and economic news that couldn't be dryer if you sat it out in a desert sun. “Fifteen years in a war zone and its boredom that's going to kill me," I said to no one.

"What the hell, Reilly, " A scornful voice said to me from over my left shoulder. I looked up to see Kayla standing there in her dirty blue coveralls and her hands on her hips. "Gregory said that you told off the Captain and quit."

"Yeah, it was more of a mutual firing," I replied, more interested in my bland soup than engaging in a conversation about my former Captain. "You know, for re-processed food, this isn't half bad," I said to make the point that I wasn't interested in what she had tracked me down to say.

"You can't quit!" she exclaimed while slapping her hands on the table so hard it spilled some of my soup. "Sorry."

I pulled a partly clean rag that was still in one of the pockets of my work pants and dabbed the small puddle before it dripped off onto my leg. I then looked at her with more pity than anger. "Your numb-nut of a Captain is going to get himself and everyone around him killed. I don't plan to be anywhere near him when that happens,"

"What's a numb-nut?" she asked me.

“Numb-nut. Dead in the noggin? Hollow in the cabeza?" I waited to see if she knew any of the common insults for the everyday i***t. She just shook her head. "It's an old expression," I said giving up on the younger generation.

“Maybe on Earth," she said taking a seat on the stool opposite me. “I grew up on Titan."

“Titan? I thought that was just a mining colony."

“It is," she said helping herself to the other half of my sandwich and ignoring my dirty look. “My mother ran a bar in the main complex, and my father was a laser drill jockey. When I was nine, they were both infected during the equine flu outbreak and died. I lived with a couple who were friends of my parents for a while but was put on the first transport back to Earth less than a year later. They gave me to one of my Uncles, who gave more of a damn about his cats than he did me. When I was twelve, I ran off and signed on to a Calabi Freighter as a servant. It turned out the Captain had a thing for young human females…"

“Hold it!" I stopped her. “I would appreciate it if you kept the more disturbing parts of your childhood to yourself while I'm eating or doing anything else for that matter.

“Sorry," she said taking another bite of her ill-gotten sandwich.

“Why are you here?" I asked.

She looked out the open window at the dusty cityscape trying to come up with an argument to sway me to return to the ship. "Okay, let's say you're right. Gerald doesn't know what he's doing. Don't you think you should stick around to keep him from doing something that could get the rest of us killed?"

"Well," I started with a spoonful of soup in my mouth, "You can't help someone who is determined to keep his head up his ass."

“You have to come back," she insisted.

“No."

“You have to."

“Why?"

“Because I'm afraid," she said with enough of a tremor in her voice that I believed her. “Gerald doesn't want to wait to find another qualified engineer. He ordered Greg to install the part, and we're going to head off to the Capricorn colony where he's lined up a job transporting spent camila rods. Greg's a decent tech, but he doesn't know enough about engines. All he really knows to do is follow directions from computer manuals. I'm afraid that without you with us, we will be in real trouble."

“Look, there is only so much I can do. I can't fit a square peg into a round hole. If he's determined to cut corners on a part that our lives rely on in space, then there is nothing more I can do but put distance between myself and the impending disaster. And I suggest you do the same."

Sadly, she replied, “I wish I could. Do you know what I had to do to survive before I signed on with Gerald?"

“Do I want to know?"

She shook her head, “Reilly, I get what you're saying, but most of us don't have a choice. We either take our chances with Gerald or starve to death in a dead-end place like this. Look out there. Practically no one on that street. Do you know why? Because they would rather kill you than give you a handout. Anyone who doesn't have a way to make a living here finds a hole to die in. If you can come back, just for this one last job, we can demand our share from the profits at the Capricorn base and be able to pay our way to a colony that has honest work. What do you say?"

Suddenly there was a siren screaming nearby that was quickly followed by more than a dozen emergency vehicles streaming by toward the port. A public alert warning flashed on the palm computer that was still sitting on the table in front of me. I touched it and read the message. “A ship that just took off from the port called out a Mayday. They're coming down hard for an emergency landing,"

“Oh my God," she said.

“Yep, it's the Glacier Runner," I said not surprised in the least that it was Gerald's ship.

“What!" she explained. Those asses left without me!"

“Well, look on the bright side. They might just die without you too."

I swiped the projection function on my computer, and the two-dimensional image of the live news feed became a three-dimensional two-foot image hovering over the table. A collection of satellite and ground sensors gave the media a “You Are There" feel of the impending tragedy. The ship had reached the thermosphere when it experienced complete failure of all three main engines. The 100-ton freighter fell back towards the ground with one of the maneuvering thrusters that could keep it upright, rather than tumbling like a beach ball, but did nothing to slow the descent. “Computer, change to overhead display, 20k perspective and overlay emergency response," I commanded, and the image changed to show a red dot for the ship that was in trouble and the three emergency craft that had been dispatched to try and intercept it.

“Are they going to catch them in time?" Kayla asked.

“I don't see how. Civilian emergency hoppers aren't equipped with the massive magnetic grappler the military uses. What they have can't catch anything bigger than an albatross shuttle. Best they can do is catch the escape pods and try and push the ship away from any populated areas before it makes an impact," I said as I adjusted the image to follow from the perspective of the closest rescue craft. We watched as three escape pods flew out of the sides of the ship and were one by one grabbed out of the air and pulled to the first responder craft.

“Those pods can only hold one person each. Where are the rest?" Kayla said fearing for her friends, at least seven still aboard. We watched as the other two rescue crafts approached and did exactly what I knew they would. Using their magnetic grapplers, they slowed its fall slightly, just enough to get some control over it and then, gunning their engines, changed the direction of the fall to a twenty-degree angle to the south, sending it to the open desert. The media image continued to follow the Glacier Runner despite the oncoming c*****e. There was a time they would have cut away before broadcasting a gruesome fate of a half dozen people, but since the war, few citizens seem to find such things objectionable. Kayla looked away, but for some reason I watched. I don't know why. Maybe I was hoping to see more pods coming out, or perhaps at the last moment a miracle of the engines coming to life. If I was to be completely honest with myself, there was a dark part of my spirit that wanted the satisfaction of being right.

The ship impacted the sandy desert floor with an impact that sent up a half-mile high dust cloud and created a 50-foot crater, but there was no fiery explosion. Instead, the ship simply compressed into a flattened pile of twisted and ripped metals. It was clear there were no survivors before the news feed could project the text. I shut it off, put the computer back in my coat pocket and went back to my coffee. Kayla was in shock; her mouth drooped open, and her eyes were full of tears. I could tell that she wanted to say something, that she needed to say something, but she couldn't vocalize the thoughts consuming her.

“You going to be okay?" I asked. She shook her head and then shrugged. “I know what you're feeling right now."

“No you don't," she uttered threw a quivering jaw.

“Yeah, I think I do," I said. “You're beating yourself up on the inside because a part of you is very glad you were not there and another part is making you feel guilty for even thinking that." She didn't reply, just looked at me with the saddest eyes.

“I need to find out who the three survivors were. I have to go see them," she said through the confusion of her shock, trying to get a grip on the situation.

I pulled the palm computer back out of my pocket and changed the news-feed back to the two-dimensional display on the four-inch screen. “The news doesn't have any names of survivors yet. It just says that the three recovered from the pods were covered in burns and suffering from wounds and severe injuries. They're being evacuated to the Betra Colony.

“Why aren't they bringing them to a hospital here?" she asked.

“Does this place honestly look like it has a decent hospital?" I pointed out.

Kayla looked around, and a new reality struck her like a slap in the face.

"Oh my God, I'm marooned here. I have nothing. I don't even have my palm computer with me. How am I going to access my money?"

"You're pretty and resourceful. I'm sure you'll be fine." I said quickly, suddenly remembering that lost puppy that followed me home from school when I was ten.

“What am I going to do?" she asked aloud.

I felt sorry for her, but not quite enough to take on a stray. I looked up some info about the local government and businesses on my device. “Well, looks like the only government office isn't open today, but they do have hours tomorrow starting at 10. You can use a retinal scan to get a new ID issued and a welfare pc to access your bank accounts and other services."

“Yeah, okay," she said, her eyes darting around as she was still trying to put together what her options were. “I can do that. Well, I guess I'm staying with you tonight."

“What?"

She looked at me with eyes that would put a kitten to shame. "This is your fault. You need to help me."

"My fault. How did this become my fault?"

"I wouldn't be out here if it wasn't for you."

I was somewhat caught off guard by her sudden finger-pointing. “No, you would be dead. That doesn't make you my responsibility."

“Are you saying you're going to leave me to fend for myself out here? I don't think this place gets any better at night."

Damn, I thought to myself, I've picked up another stray. “Okay, look, my funds are limited. I have yet to be paid for the past four months I was on Glacier, and I don't see the old lady paying out now. My pension is tied up with my service account that can't be accessed outside of the Sol system or military base, so all I have is my civilian savings account which is enough for myself to get by on for about a week. If I have to share, then I risk going hungry that much sooner."

Her lower lip literally began to tremble. The truth was, I dreaded the idea of being out on these streets after dark, so I seriously doubted she would last the night without having to resort to nefarious acts. I softened my tone as well as the creases on my face and said,

"So, I guess if you want, you can sleep on the floor in my room tonight."

“Thank you," she said modestly. Then she said looking down at the nearly empty bowl of soup and sandwich wrapper. “Is that all you're going to get to eat?"

A snide comment came to mind, but I kept it to myself. She was right that I was the only one on the entire planet who gave a damn about her. So, I decided to do the right thing, despite my better judgment. “The selections is not very good," I said standing up and picking up my bag. “But I'll let you pick out a couple of things on the way up to our," that last word had an uncomfortable sound to it, so I corrected myself, “way up to my room."

“Okay," she said a little more cheerfully, “What about a change of clothes?"

I stopped and turned to her with what I'm sure was a look much harsher than I intended as she grimaced and took a half step back from me. “Don't push your luck," I said sternly.

“Yes, Sir," she said. The way she said it sent a chill through me. It was in a manner a servant might reply to a harsh master. A role I had no desire to play in this little arrangement of ours. I led her up to the food dispensers, waved my pc over the p*****t scanner and activated the menu selection. “Help yourself, but try to keep it under ten credits. She gave me a soft smile and looked at the menu to carefully and eagerly make her choices. I then added, “Let's be clear about what we are doing here. The only thing you're going to owe me is the credits your spending right now, nothing else. I'm doing this as a favor, and I have no expectations of getting anything more in return."

Her face got a sour look on it, and she turned to me with a slight flush on her face. It was hard to judge if it was from embarrassment or anger, but it was definitely a reaction to what I said. “What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

“I know that from some of the things that you've told me and from some of the stories I had the misfortune of hearing on the ship from some of your shipmates, that at times in your life you've had to…"

Her hands went back to her hips, “I had to do what?"

“Had to pay for your meals with less than conventional means."

Her eye squinted, and her jaw clenched, “Are you calling me a w***e?"

“No," I said, standing my ground and not letting my embarrassment knock me off my game. “I'm calling you a survivor. I just wanted to make it clear that for tonight, you don't need to compromise anything for that survival. Am I clear?"

She considered her next move very carefully. It was evident that she felt insulted, despite the truth of her past that she had hoped was more forgotten than it was. Yet she was still at my mercy, and it could be hours or even a whole day before her next meal. So she sucked in some air and her pride, then said, “That arrangement goes without saying."

“Good," I said and then stepped to the side to give her access to the entire touchscreen. She turned her attention back to it and made her first selection, a soy tuna sandwich with simulated tomatoes and lettuce. Then after a moment of pondering she picked a black bean soup, a slice of carrot cake and two bottles of beer. The total was sixteen credits, which was over the limit I said, but she pushed the button to complete the purchase before I could protest.

“I'm good for it," she said bending over to retrieve the food from the dispenser slot below.

“Did you really need two beers?" I asked.

“No," she said looking back at me. “One's for you. If we're going to spend the night in the same room, you are going to have to take some of that edge off." She then winked at me and turned to walk towards the stairwell leading up to the rooms. I honestly couldn't tell if she was flirting or just teasing. But it didn't matter. All I wanted was a shower and a good night's sleep. At least that's what I tried to tell myself.